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«A GARNERED 
AUTUMN SHEAF" 



"A GARNERED 

AUTUMN SHEAF" 

By ERNESTINE L. R. COLLINS 




THE CORNHILL PUBLISHING COMPANY 

BOSTON, MASS. 



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Copyright, 1921 
The Cornhill Publishing Company 



OCT -b 19^1 
§)CIA627304 



FOREWORD 

I've collected and culled my rhymes 
And garnered them into a sheaf — 
The echoes of pastimes brief — 

Stored away in rhythmical chimes. 

They to others will be of less worth 

Than to those who are dearest to me — 
My friends and posterity — 

When I shall have passed from the earth. 

No heights nor depths are revealed 
In my verse, nor knowledge abstruse, 
But of things near at hand I've made use, 

Things which to my fancy appealed. 

I have never above the clouds soared, 
Or hobnobbed with Venus and Mars. 
Or tried to outsparkle the stars. 

Nor the heart of the sun explored. 

I have walked in the valleys of thought 

And plucked the stray blossoms that grew, 
While leisurely wandering through: 

These into my sheaf I have wrought. 



And if they their purpose attain — 
To amuse, perchance, for awhile, 
And the reader from ennui beguilt 

My efforts have not been in vain. 

Ernestine L. R. Collins, 
Clinton, Mo. 



"A GARNERED 
AUTUMN SHEAF" 

THE KATYDID 

When night's invisible choir comes out; 
Each singing his favorite strain, 
The katydid puts all the rest to rout 
With his peevish, incessant refrain. 
"Katy did — Katy didn't — she did" — says he 
Just as plain as words can be. 

Oh, the Katydid is a saucy wight 
And he wears a coat of green, 
His stridulous notes are heard all night 
From beneath his leafy screen. 
"Katy did — Katy didn't — she did" — says he 
From his perch in the maple tree. 

All day he sits in his quiet nook 

With never a word to say. 

But at night, from his perch where none can 

look, 
He scolds and chatters away. 
"Katy did — Katy didn't — she did" — says he 
High up in the maple tree. 



I A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 

No wonder his voice is harsh and coarse 
And sounds like the rasping of saws, 
For he carps all night until he is hoarse. 
With never a moment's pause. 
*Katy did — Katy didn't — she did — she did" — 
He pipes 'neath the green leaves hid. 

Who Katy is or what she has done. 

Or whether she didn't or did, 

Could never be learned by anyone 

From this caviling katydid. 
'Katy did — Katy didn't — she did" — says he 
From his perch in the maple tree. 

I can tell you a secret about katydid. 
For I've learned some curious things. 
About how katydid's voice is made — 
They say it is made with his wings. 

And that's why his voice never tires when he 
sings, 

For he says Katy did with the click of his wings. 



A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 3 



FAIRY SONG 

Two little fairy sprites 

In a shell asleep. 
Rocked by the zephyrs light 

Sailing o'er the deep. 
In their tiny fairy boat 

Made of rainbow hues 
Sweetly dreaming as they float 

On their aerial cruise. 

Over them the moonbeams pale 

Shed a mellow light, 
Guiding their bark so frail 

Through the stilly night. 
Whither now, O whither roam 

In your silvery shell? 
Surely Ye must hither come 

From some Fairy-dell. 

Where so lightly dance the fays 

Among the flowers fair, 
Underneath the moon's soft rays 

To music quaint and rare. 
Made by harps aeolian 

With strings of finest hair 
By the tiniest spider spun^ 

And fanned by softest air. 



A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 

And the trumpet-flower's sweet notes. 

Blown by elfin sprites, 
Till the merry echo floats 

Along the distant heights. 
And chimes of lily-bells at morn 

Ring their joyous peals, 
Blent with elfin harp and horn, 

A mystic music yields. 



A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 



IN MEMORIAM 

He came to us in winter time 

When ev'rything was chill and drear. 

Like a golden ray of sunshine 
Bringing with him light and cheer. 

Oh^ how we loved our darling babe — 
A precious gift from Heaven sent. 

No, not a gift, else he had stayed. 
But only for a moment lent 

To keep as a most sacred trust; 

But why, I never could explain 
That when we'd learned to love him most 

He should be taken back again. 

We guarded him with tenderest care 

Like the most fragile flower from birth. 

Too delicate and frail to bear 

The chilling atmosphere of earth. 

His little life was so entwined 

With mine, it seemed a very part, 

Though gone from earth, nor death, nor time, 
Can ever take him from my heart. 



6 A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 

Yes, gone — as all must some time go ! 

Why do I grieve when all is vain? 
I cannot tell, I only know 

I should not wish him back again 

To share the ills in life's unrest 

Which all must soon or later know — 

I try to feel 'tis for the best. 
But oh, I can't — I loved him so. 

The music of his voice — so sweet — 

In baby tones to us so dear, 
The soft tread of his tiny feet 

Seem ever echoing on my ear. 

The little shoe with broken string, 
The picture books he loved so well, 

The fondest recollections bring. 
For each a story has to tell. 

His little crib, how oft I seek, 
And little playthings laid away. 

In silent eloquence they speak 

A meaning more than words can say. 

No plans for future life we had 

But he was foremost in each thought, 

But now alas ! a change most sad 

Thy hand, O destiny, hath wrought. 



A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 

And though we try to reconcile 
Ourselves unto thy stern decree, 

The heart is yearning all the while 
His baby form once more to see. 

Ah, well, we know that he has gone 

Unto a brighter, happier home. 
Where sing bright birds of sweetest song, 

And flowers in fadeless beauty bloom. 

And when we've done with earthly care, 
And reach the mystic river side. 

Our darling boy will meet us there 
And o'er it safe our bark will guide. 



8 A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 

CHILDHOOD DAYS 

Oh, the happy days of childhood 
In the meadows or the wildwood ! 
In the meadows decked with flowers 
Passing many golden hours. 
Romping in their childish glee 
Chasing butterfly or bee. 
Or by winding brooklet straying 
In its crystal waters playing. 
Wading in with feet all bare 
Hunting pebbles quaint and rare. 
Floating tiny boat or ark 
Made of bits of chip or bark, 
Thinking naught of time or place, 
With the streamlet keeping pace 
Following their fairy craft, 
Which the breezes gently waft, 
Onward through some sunny glade. 
Skirted by the greenwood shade. 
Finding here a cool retreat 
Sink upon some mossy seat 
And rest awhile their tired feet. 

Oh, the golden days of childhood 
By the streamlet in the wildwood! 
Careless, happy, light, and free 
Sitting 'neath a spreading tree, 
List'ning to some sylvan tale 



A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 9 

Whispered by the gentle gale — 

Whispered by the gale so softly 

Murm'ring through the treetops lofty, 

Down through branches swaying, swinging. 

Tales of joy to childhood bringing: 

Of little nests on branches high 

That none who pass may chance to spy 

The little eggs that in them lie. 

And of birds that watch them carefully. 

Guard and watch them all day long 

And trill the while their joyous song. 

Tells how sunshine and the showers 

Deck the woods with grass and flowers — 

Anemones and violets blue 

With golden butter-cups of dew. 

Thus like butterflies so gay 
Pass our childhood hours away, 
Never have they care or sorrow 
But will fade with coming morrow. 
Sleep to youth is more than wealth 
Bringing peace and rosy health, 
Which they will find when they are old 
Cannot be bought with precious gold. 
The rose of health and sparkling eye 
The gold of Ophir cannot buy. 

Then let us not begrudge them pleasure 
But fill their cups with heaping measure. 



10 A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 

All too soon will youth forsake them; 

All too soon will care o'ertake them^ 

As adown life's stream they float 

Like their fairy pleasure boat. 

Left to drift upon the tide 

Onward to the ocean wide. 

For as the streamlet to the sea 

Is childlife to the yet-to-be. 

But ay! though childhood's happy hours 

Are transient as the summer flowers, 

Who does not feel the painful truth 

That sweetest joys have passed with youth? 



A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 11 



AN APRIL SONG 

Glad April's come with dewy eyes 
That smile through sparkling tears, 

And bluer are the bending skies, 
And greener earth appears. 

Capricious month, with promise rife 

Of sunnier days to come, 
All nature quickens with new life, 

And bursts each bud in bloom. 

Yet, fickle youth, we love thy face 
With all its varying moods: 

When sun and shade each other chase 
Across the fields and woods. 

I love to watch the white clouds fleet. 
And sudden dashing showers; 

It makes the balmy air so sweet 
With breath of new-born flowers. 

The crocus peeps from 'neath the snow 

And opes its lily-cup, 
To catch the sunshine's golden glow 

That brings the warm sap up. 



12 A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 

And sweety wild flowers of every hue 

Are springing everywhere. 
Thej?^ bask in sunshine^ drink the dew. 

And breathe the soft warm air. 

The violet with nod, and bend, 

And rim of azure blue, 
In rainbow harmony doth blend 

With softest yellow hue. 

The flower that poets love so well. 

Emblem of purity 
And truth, which oft together dwell 

In lone obscurity. 

E'en Shakespeare who of mighty kings 
And deeds of statecraft wrote 

Scorns not the violet, but sings 
Its praise in sweetest note. 

The dandelions, with saucy air. 
The lawns and yards run o'er. 

And hj the dusty highways stare. 
Or peep in our very door. 

Fair flowers, sweet messengers of spring, 

We hail ye with delight. 
And give ye a glad welcoming 

For making earth so bright. 



A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 13 

For it would be a gloomy place 

Should ye not lend your smile 
That beams upon each cheering face 

Which coyly peeps the while 

From leafy nook or tangled maze, 

Or in the sun's broad glare, 
Or bending o'er the brook to gaze, 

Upon thy image fair. 

In climes where winters linger long, 

Spring-beauties quickly follow 
Retreating snows, ere scarcely gone 

From sheltered nook and hollow. 

I've sought them on the rugged steeps 

Where they were wont to grow. 
And clambered o'er the banks where sweeps 

The river far below. 

These trophies of the early Spring 

Were held by me most dear, 
As nature's sweet peace-offering, — 

The firstlings of the year. 

Whose breath ascends like incense sweet 

From altars verdure-clad. 
While scattering beauty at our feet 

And making all earth glad. 



14 A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 

For when are decked the fields and woods 

In colors bright and gay, 
The birds pour forth, in perfect floods. 

The joy they cannot stay. 

As if in gratitude and praise 
To Him who rules o'er all, 

Who gives the valley-lily grace 
And notes the sparrow's fall. 

Then for these beauties manifold. 
May we as grateful prove, 

And in God's handiworks behold 
His wisdom, power, and love. 

For lo ! in every blade of grass. 

Or in each tiny flower. 
Or summer breeze, or wintry blast, 

We recognize His power. 



A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 1. 



COSMIC ENERGY 

What is the power that drives man on — 
An inner force he must obey — 
Which prods him onward day by day 

Until the longed-for goal is won? 

An energy that stirs within 

That makes one feel that he has shirked 
His duty if he has not worked. 

Which doing will contentment win. 

'Tis not ambition's vain desire 
For glory, worldly power, or fame, 
And sometimes has no special aim 

Except to urge to something higher. 

May it not be creative power 

Innate in man — a divine spark — 
Like to a seed sown in the dark 

That pushes to the light to flower? 

And if he will but hearken to 

This cosmic urge which all possess 
In some degree, greater or less. 

Naught seems too great for man to do. 



16 A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 

All things in nature's vast domain 
Unlock their secrets to his will, 
Guided by scientific skill, 

Ever his goal he will attain. 

He voyages beneath the sea 

Or through the air to heights unknown. 
In regions where no bird has flown. 

And where no rivalry has he. 

The highest mountain peaks he scales 

As if to read the starry lore 

Over which men nightly pore 
Before the sun their glory pales. 

The polar lure which men, obsessed, 
But whom the ice king long defied. 
Has finally been gratified. 

For he has yielded to their quest. 

This energy which dwells in man 

Is the same force which worlds creates. 
Developing to higher states 

Through cosmic evolution's plan. 



A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 17 



Lines Written for Shakespeare's Birthday. Kead at 
the annual banquet of the Clinton Shalcespeare Class, 
April 23d, 1890. 

Another year has swiftly passed away 
Bringing another anniversary day. 
And once again with cheerful hearts we meet, 
Again our friends with kindly welcome greet. 
Well pleased to share with them for what 'tis worth 
Our celebration of the great bard's birth. 
Inscribed in evergreens, behold his name — 
A fitting type of his undying fame 
Which time has not with its accustomed rigor 
Had power to blight, but lent immortal vigor. 
A fame which burns and glows with steady blaze, 
And sends athwart two continents its rays. 
Peerless he reigns, the brightest star that shines 
Within the galaxy of the world's great minds. 

Howe'er, in me 'twould be presumption bold 
To eulogize a name whose virtues told 
So oft has rendered it a household word 
Where'er the English language may be heard. 
Yet we who've dabbled at his fountain's brink 
And of its priceless waters joyed to drink, 
Our grateful tribute of respect would pay 
And hail with pleasure this, his natal day. 
May it ever be a day of joy and mirth 
And none forget the "gentle Shakespeare's" birth. 
And may his name be heard on every tongue. 



18 A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 

By coming bards his praises ever sung; 
For bard^ historian, and sage divine. 
Essayist and orator, and, in fine, 
The keenest wits and wisest sages 
Have borrowed inspiration from his pages. 
Or, to use a figure which all well know. 
Have lighted their taper at his candle's glow. 

Then all before his mighty genius bow 
And bind the laurel leaf upon his brow. 
Again we hail his natal-day with joy, 
And yield to merriment without alloy. 
Again, kind friends, with hearty acclamation 
We welcome you to our celebration. 



A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 19 

ROSES AND DIMPLES 

Whence came the dimples and the rose 
In baby's cheek? The story goes: 
An angel passing by one day 
Beheld a child that sleeping lay 
In a shady nook — a lovely sight; 
He paused a moment in his flight — 
"Behold! what a lovely child is here! 
It has been stol'n from Heaven I fear." 
Thus spoke the angel drawing near. 
As if the truth he wished to prove 
If 'twere of earth or heaven above. 
He kissed its cheeks like lilies fair. 
And left the bloom of roses there. 

Then touched them with his finger tips 
Just at the corner of its lips. 
From where he then his hand withdrew, 
Two little dimples quickly grew. 
Angel dimples, baby's ruse 
To coax us when it smiles or coos. 

The angel then no longer whiled. 
He recognized a mortal child. 
Viewing his work with keen delight 
He quick resumed his onward flight. 
That's how comes the rosy hue 
In baby's cheek, and dimples, too. 



20 A GARNLRED AUTUMN SHEAF 



THE MOON FLOWER AND FOUR-O'CLOCK 

The modest moon flower shrinks and pales 
Before the day king's burning kiss. 

But to the queen of night unveils 
Her charms in all their loveliness. 

But not so meek the four-o'clock. 

Coquettish little miss. 
Who dons her most bewitching frock 
And sallies forth at four o'clock 

To greet the sun's warm kiss. 

And basks within his waning light, 

Until he says farewell 
When he retires to rest at night, 

Then, reigns as evening belle. 



A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 21 



OLD FASHIONED FLOWERS 

I love the dear old fashioned flowers 

That in my youth I knew, 
That all along the garden walks 

And in the front yard grew. 

Where little mounds of moss rose stood 
Whose blossoms, white and red, 

With feathery foliage rank and green 
O'er all their surface spread. 

Among the prettiest flowers that grew 
Dianthus pinks were our delight. 

Their petals red in varying hue 
Tipped with picot edge of white. 

And ragged-robbins of every hue 

With bleeding-heart, and cockscomb red, 
And marigolds, and asters grew 

In the old time flower bed. 

A dainty flower in shim'ring white 

Was lady-in-the-green 
Who, shrinking timidly from sight, 

Peeped through a lacy screen. 



22 A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 

A homely flower with sober face 
As old-maids-wreath was known; 

Though stiff and awkward, held its place 
Among the flowers then grown. 

Along with mourning-widows, grave 
Gowned in velvet black as night — 

Contrasting with the touch-me-not, 
Or lady's slipper pink and white. 

How graceful was the cypress vine 

That to a trellis clung 
Its foliage delicate and fine 

With scarlet bells o'erhung. 

The soft winds through the poppies blew 
Fanning their drowsy odors 'round 

And toying with their fragile leaves 
Scattered them o'er the ground. 

Morning-glories in brilliant mass. 

As lovely as a dream, 
No other flower can surpass 

In wealth of color scheme. 

But like the moon flower, hides its face 

As if in very scorn 
Of the rude day god's ardent gaze. 

And blossoms with the morn. 



A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 23 

They clambered o'er the windows, where 

In wanton joy they swung, 
And out upon the morning air 

Their myriad blossoms flung. 

And roses, still the queen of flowers. 

Did everywhere abound, 
Though new varieties are ours 

None prettier are found. 

The hollyhocks with slender stocks 

Abloom from top to toe, 
With sunflowers, stood like sentinels 

Guarding the flowers below. 



24 A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 



TIME'S MISSION 

"O Father Time, I pray thee check thy pace, 
I cannot follow thee in this mad race. 
The mile-posts seem to fly away so fast 
I scarce can see them while we're rushing past. 
I fain would pause to take the rest I need 
Whilst thou advancest with increasing speed. 
When first I met thee in the long ago 
I thought thy lagging steps were all too slow, 
Then I besought thee to increase thy gait 
To catch some bauble I could scarce await. 
Thou didst refuse my summons to obey 
But kept the even tenor of thy way." 

Thus I entreated Father Time, in tears. 
Whose head is hoary with the rime of years. 
But though I begged him but a moment stay 
He heeded not but quickly sped away. 
And as he hastened with me o'er life's stage 
Thus spoke he with the wisdom of a sage : — 

"Back in remotest ages' uncut leaves 
Where memory reacheth not, nor mind conceives. 
Before creation's dawn, indeed, I was, — 
Coeval with the great creative cause. 
And from my loins the myriad worlds have sprung 
That down the centuries untold have swung 



A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 25 

O'er trackless voids of deep abysmal space^ 
Whilst I with measured tread moved on apace. 
I could not, if I would, pause in my course, 
Onward impelled by some resistless force. 
Therefore thy praj^ers or tears alike are vain 
To move me, or my onward march restrain. 

"I'm called Tierce spirit of the scythe and 
glass,' 
For with my thrifty blade o'er all I pass: 
But ever in its wake spring lovelier flowers. 
My slipping sands tell off the passing hours. 
I bring the seasons in continuous round, 
To days, and years, and centuries, give bound. 
I'm also called 'tomb-builder' and 'gnawing-tooth/ 
'Remorseless grim destroyer/ and in sooth, 
I do destroy, crumble, and topple down 
The grand achievements which man's efforts crown. 
E'en Mother Nature with her mobile face 
Owes to my hand each new more perfect grace. 
With mighty spasms and internal shocks, 
I rend and crush her adamantine rocks. 
Level her mountains, grind her cliffs to sands. 
Smoothing her features with my rugged hands. 

'My mission is perpetual change, to bring. 
That higher orders, Phoenix like, may spring 
From out the ashes of the vnouldering past — 
Each new creation higher thon the last. 



26 A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 

I work not always with a hand so rude 
But slowly polish and refine the crude. 
Some time it will be better understood, 
I always labor for the general good. 
I heal all griefs and bind the wounded heart 
^^ ith Lethean balsam to remove the smart. 

"In nature's cosmic processes I find 
I may seem cruel when I would be kind. 
Thus, when I gently furrow brow and cheeks, 
And slowly thread thy locks with silver streaks, 
Make dim thine eyes, thy faltering feet to grope 
And totter feebly down life's sun-set slope, — 
I do but wear thy prison bars away 
That hold thee in this prison-house of clay. 

"But when I've opened wide thy prison door 
Into the boundless infinite thou'lt soar 
To that mystic realm in Celestial Spheres, 
Seen by the inner vision of your seers. 
And I shall still forever be with thee 
As thou advancest throughout eternity. 
For though it has been said in days of yore 
The time would come when time would be no more, 
It is a paradox as one may see: 
I always was — and always I will be 
Cliief executor of His divine will — 
Progress, through change, my mission to fulfill." 



A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 27 



THE WILD ROSE 

The sweet breathed wild rose, queenly flower, 
Wears a pink flush on her face: 

The flush of pride in her royal power 
Which she wields with quiet grace. 

Not like the stately garden rose 

Whose proud majestic mien 
An air of haughty grandeur shows 

Unlike our prairie queen: 

Who reigns with modesty o'er all 

With undisputed sway; 
Not circumscribed by fence or wall — 

Her realm, the world's high way. 



28 A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 



MEDITATION UPON DEATH 

The time will come some day when I must go — 
Must follow in the wake of all the earth 

The shadow-path of death: I fear not though. 
For death is but the process of rebirth. 

And all must meet it at earth's journey's-end — 
Some early and some later in the day — 

Then why not greet it as a welcome friend 

That comes, to guide us o'er the unknown way 

Into the higher life, inherited 

By all? — the reflex of our life below — 

Such life, as by our deeds, is merited 
As surely as we reap just what we sow. 

What should concern us chiefly is the thought: — 
How much of good have we accomplished here. 

Or service to our fellowman have wrought. 
Or have we softened grief or quenched a tear? 

What though our sphere of usefulness be small? 

Our home, perhaps, may claim our chiefest care. 
If we have done it well, though that be all, 

'Tis something to have done out duty there: 



A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 29 

Our children reared — with all that this implies — 
To give them watchful care by day and night, 

To guard them from all harms that may arise, 
And guide their footsteps in the paths of right. 

Our duty done should banish every fear, 
And somewhat take away the sting of pain 

At parting with our friends and loved ones here 
To meet them later on the spirit-plane. 

Some sage has said: "Seek truth wherever found, 
Whether on Christian, or on pagan ground." 

An aphorism just and wise, in sooth, 
For none may claim monopoly on truth. 

Who seeks the truth comes nearer to the light. 
Who trusts the intuition of the soul 

Will never wander very far from right, 

For truth will guide him to the Heavenly goal. 

I like to think or dream with Tennyson 
That good will be the final goal of ill. 

I trust that all will share God's benison. 
That evil will succumb to His good will. 

Love begets love, and pity softens hate. 

And mercy works more good than vengeance 
can; 

These three, therefore, if we but cultivate, 

Will bring to earth peace and good will to man. 



30 A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 

The longing for life's continuity 

The promise of fulfillment doth imply. 

There could be no desire were there no way 
The hunger of the soul to satisfy. 

The sluggish worm that crawls along the ground, 
Falling asleep within his cerecloth rolled, 

In due time bursts the bonds which wrap him 
'round, 
And soars aloft on wings of shining gold. 

So when I lay me down to quiet sleep — 
The outer senses all forever stilled — 

I trust to waken from my slumber deep 

To find my fondest dreams are all fulfilled. 



A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 31 



America's Reply to John McRae's 
"In Flanders Fields" 

Sleep on, ye brave in Flanders field. 
Your blood has not in vain been shed. 

It has our covenant with ye sealed; 

There, too, our sons have fought and bled, 
And now lie numbered with the dead. 
In Flanders fields. 

Fear not that we shall break our plight, 
Your comrades, tho from distant lands, 

Who have espoused the cause of right, 

Will seize the torch dropped from your hands. 

And from your couch where poppies blow. 
And soft winds whisper through the grass, 

We'll backward hurl the stubborn foe — 

Our watchword thine, "They shall not pass." 

Nor fear but we'll defeat the foe. 
For right must triumph over wrong; 

Then sleep in peace where poppies blow. 
And larks still bravely sing their song 
In Flanders fields. 



32 A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 



A RHYME OF THE FRENCH TEAPOT 

When I was young, and went to school, 
The teacher showed us how our maps 

Were shaped like many curious things, 
To impress them on our minds, perhaps. 

And I remember plainly how 

We all agreed the shape of France 

Was almost like a teapot formed, 

It seemed, by some strange rule of chance. 

The knob of the lid was at Calais, 
The spout extended out to Brest, 

The handle was Alsace-Lorraine, 
The pot, of course, was all the rest. 

Of this French teapot's sad mishaps. 

The story I will now relate. 
Of all its triumphs and defeats. 

And final ending up to date. 

About two thousand years ago 

The German hordes of robber bands 

Poured down across the River Rhine 
And seized upon these Gallic lands. 



A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 33 

Then Caesar came to aid the Gauls; 

He piled the German dead in heaps 
And drove the rest across the Rhine 

Into the swampy forest deeps. 

It chanced this Alsace and Lorraine — 
The handle of the French teapot — 

The Germans always coveted 

As of all France, the richest spot. 

And therefore, as the years passed by. 
Between these rival states there grew 

A jealousy, and hate, and spleen. 
That kept them ever in a stew. 

Through many wars that came about. 
Contending for these envied lands. 

They have been like a shuttle-cock 

Tossed back and forth between their hands. 

Bismarck, the Prussian chancelor. 

Ambitious to make Prussia great. 
Two wars provoked, and conquest made; 

Increasing thus the Prussian state. 

Encouraged thus, with scarce a pause. 

Napoleon Third, he bated next. 
To find some semblance of a cause. 

For "The wicked never lack pretext." 



34 A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 

Napoleon Thirds hot-headed man. 
Fell in the trap as soon as laid; 

Was quick defeated at Sedan, 
And for his rashness dearly paid. 

'Twas then, in eighteen seventy one, 
The Germans seized Alsace-Lorraine, 

Five billion francs indemnity. 
Beside, succeeded to obtain. 

And France bewailed her grievous loss. 
For they had spoiled the teapot's shape. 

She built a monument of grief 

And draped it o'er with mourning crepe. 

The Huns, this mourning did resent, 
And took her sorrow for revanche 

And thought, by way of punishment. 
Another war on her they'd launch. 

And so they drank unto "The Day" 

When they should try the trick once more, 

And take the cover off the pot 

This time, and for more wealth explore. 

For four long years they tried their skill. 
But all their efforts failed, alack! 

They could not get the cover off 
And had to gfve the handle back. 



A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 35 

They routed them at every point 

Where "Hindy" stretched his famous line, 

Nor gave them time to pause for breath 

Till they had goose-stepped 'cross the Rhine. 

Now France's teapot is intact, 

The handle has come back to stay. 
Nor need they fear the Boche again 

Will try to touch the knob, Calais. 

Her mourning statue France undraped. 
And placed a wreath upon its head: 

No more she wears the mourning crepe 
Save only for her noble dead. 

And though her land is scarred and torn, 
France will no longer wail and pine: 

With British Tommies and Yankee boys, 
She now keeps "Watch Upon The Rhine." 

And while in Alsace and Lorraine 

Again the French flag proudly floats. 

The dogs of war, the Huns unchained. 
Are tearing at their masters' throats. 

And "Deutschland Ueber Alles" no more 

Will urge them to the battle fray; 
Their dream of world dominion's o'er. — 

No more they'll drink unto "The Day." 



36 A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 



SHE AND HE 

She hears the brooklet laugh and sing 

'Neath sun and shadow dimpling 
Or hears it softly murmuring 

When over pebbles wimpling. 
To him 'tis but a noisy brook 

Forever onward going. 
Upon its face he sees no look 

But only water flowing. 

The breezes whisper in her ears 

Strange tales of wood and ocean: 
No voices in the breeze he hears 

But only air in motion. 
The rain that fills each flower-cup 

To her is God's sweet nectar; 
To him the earth it softens up 

From drouth a sure protector. 

When strolling by the meadow brook, 

Soft winds through reeds a-singing, 
The lingering echoes of Pan's pipe 

She fancies still a-ringing. 
No vagrant music greets his ears 

Nor notes from Pan's pipe blowing, 
The only music that he hears 

Is far-off cattle lowing. 



A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 37 

She dwells upon Parnassus Height 

And drinks Castalian water 
And gathers wild flowers with delight 

Like Ceres' lovely daughter. 
Such glamourie he cannot know 

But he is like the many 
Who dwell below like old Pluto 

She like Proserpine. 

Beware of him, O maiden wise, 
— If thou art Ceres' daughter — 

Who looks not toward the azure skies 
But down on mud and water. 



S8 A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 



DEEDS VERSUS CREEDS 

Why bicker over man-made creeds 
That mystify and cloud the mind? 

Better are kindly words and deeds 
To smooth the pathway of mankind. 



A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 39 



HONOR AND VIRTUE 

Honor, whose aim is men's regard, 

No step to cause a blush would take: 

While virtue is its own reward 

And does what's right for right's own sake. 

To further quote the sage, Voltaire, 

"Honor is common, virtue, rare." 



40 A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 



EDITH CAVELL 

Not all the heroes^ in battle fell 
In Argonne wood, on Marne, or Somme, 
None braver died than Edith Cavell, 
The martyr nurse of Belgium. 

Midst roar of guns, and screaming shells. 
Comrades in battle rush the foe, 
Buoyed up by shouts and battle yells 
To victory or death they go. 

Alone, against a prison wall. 
Calmly she took her seat, nor spoke. 
No kindly face before her stood 
To give her courage and fortitude, 
Only sinister faces all. 
Of those who dealt the fatal stroke. 

Her mission was a sacred one — 
To minister with gentle hand 
To victims of the ruthless Hun — 
Invader of a peaceful land. 

Victim herself of jealous hate 
She fell, a martyr to the cause 
Of justice and humanity. 
The highest of God's sacred laws. 



A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 41 

Most nobly has she earned the name 
Of "Belgium's Florence Nightingale." 
English alike they share like fame 
And glory, which time cannot pale. 

Aghast with horror, the world beheld 
This crime which to the whole world cried. 
It steeled the heart and nerved the hand, 
With victory the world replied. 

Victory over tyranny, 

Victory for the weak and small, 

Victory for humanity, 

For justice meted out to all. 

Edith Cavell, thy name will live 
On history's page, that all may know 
The noble service thou didst give. 
Rendered alike to friend and foe. 
And bards thy story will relate, 
Thy heroism and thy sade fate. 
And tears of sympathy will flow. 



42 A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 

SWEET VIOLETS 

Dear little violets, by soft winds fanned. 
Hiding away so modest and shy, 

As if to avoid the vandal hand 

That would pluck ye from your native land, 

The law of love ye understand 
For with fragrance sweet ye reply. 

O let me die when the violets bloom — 

Sweet violets, violets dear, 
Scatter them gently over my tomb 
Scattering away all grief and gloom 
For think me not in the narrow room. 

Though I may be lingering near. 

O bury me where the violets grow — 

Sweet violets, so full of grace. 
So early and so late to blow 
Sometimes covered by winter snow 
Waiting for it to melt and go 
Ere they peep from their hiding place. 

O plant sweet violets on my grave — 

Sweet violets, violets dear. 
Where their blossoms may nod and wave 
Tho' rains may fall, and storms may rave; 
Kind nature will her darlings save 

To lend to the earth their cheer. 



A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 43 



PREFACE TO TRANSLATIONS 

I am indebted to the French and German poets 
for the larger part of my book. 

The work of rendering their poems into Eng- 
lish has been so fascinating to me that it has 
left less time for original work, by which circum- 
stances the reader may probably benefit. 

When I made my translations of these poems 
I had no intention of publishing them, but be- 
cause of the beauty and excellence of thought 
contained in them, I have decided to publish them 
in order to share them with others from whom 
they might otherwise remain locked up in a foreign 
tongue. I trust they have not suffered so great 
a loss in the translation but that they may be 
read with interest and pleasure. 

As they are mostly from the classics, there are 
presumably other English versions with some of 
which mine may compare unfavorably. Neverthe- 
less I have decided to let the readers judge for 
themselves as to their merits. 

I would call special attention to the "Songs 
of Ossian" because of the curious fact that, having 
been first translated into English from an alleged 
Gaelic text which is no longer extant^ if it ever 
existed, there can be no English version except 
it come through some one of the foreign languages 



44 A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 

into which McPherson's text was translated. It 
will be seen, therefore, that any English versions 
that may exist must necessarily differ widely from 
each other, as also from McPherson's English 
text. 

These songs of Ossian are but fragments of a 
long epic poem, "Fingal," purporting to have been 
written by Ossian, a Gaelic bard of the third 
century. 

I hope the reader will pardon the seeming 
presumption on my part if I give a brief account 
of McPherson's "originals" and the controversy 
which followed their translations into English: 
which facts are doubtless familiar to literary 
critics, but may not be so generally known to 
the lay reader. 

McPherson, a Scotchman and a good Gaelic 
scholar, travelled through Scotland and the 
Hebrides accompanied by two other Gaelic schol- 
ars, collecting old Gaelic manuscripts from among 
the people, also many oral recitations which he 
took down in Gaelic. 

When his translations of them first appeared in 
England they were received everywhere with in- 
tense enthusiasm and were translated into nearly 
all the principal European languages. 

The bitter controversy which soon arose over 
the authenticity of McPherson's "originals" is 
a long chapter well known to literary students. 



A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 45 

Both sides of the controversy, which was waged 
for many years, were supported by the most em- 
inent scholars of the times. 

Although later investigations exonerated Mc- 
Pherson from the charge of literary forgery and 
established, for a time at least, the authenticity 
of Ossian and his poems, the question in dispute 
is likely to remain a mooted one. 

The latest word that I have seen still dis- 
credits McPherson and declares Ossian to be a 
myth. I am inclined, however, to side with "the 
few people of intelligence north of the Tay, who 
still indulge the pleasing supposition that Fingal 
fought and Ossian sang." 

Whether spurious or genuine, the lofty senti- 
ment, wild beauty of imagery, original and pleas- 
ing similies, which abound in Goethe's version, 
from which I made a metrical translation, entitle 
them to a place in any collection of poetry. 



46 A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 

TO A PURSE 

(From the French of Emile Augier) 

By darling hands wrought daintily, 
Little threads of silk and gold, 
Charming thyself, yet more two-fold 

For the dear hand that made thee. 

Then fear thou no request from me 
A meagre treasure to infold. 

But little gold have they who rhyme. 
But should they heaps of it obtain. 
Thy dainty net-work it would stain. 
A fate less vulgar shall be thine 
For thou shalt be the sacred shrine 
Of my poor heart and brain. 

Thy silken meshes tho' not gold 
Perfumed sonnets shall contain — 
Confidences 'tween us twain 

That no other shall behold. 

And within each tiny fold 

Shall lie conceal'd our joy or pain. 

And when old age the source shall chill. 

Whence issue all our joys and woes. 

And when no more with ardor glows 

The soul, nor feels love's tender thrill, 

I'll ope thee, little purse, here will 

The treasures of my heart repose. 



A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 47 

TO CREATE 

(From the French of Paul Bourget) 

Days succeed days, and weary years shall shed 
Their leaves like withered roses sear and dead 
Ere I shall hold within my feeble grasp 
The treasures which, alone, I long to clasp, — 
Fame and genius — Yet, how enraptured, quite, 
Am I with letters, my supreme delight! 

How thrills my heart with every word and 
thought. 
With so much pain or pleasure they are fraught! 
How ardently I've spent my nights and days 
To catch a fleeting thought or turn a phrase ! 

When April skies a smile of promise wear. 
And perfumes sweet float on the balmy air 
As soft as woman's breath, I oft retire 
From all, subduing all but one desire. 
Ready to die, so does it fascinate — 
Rebellious words to conquer — to create! 

Create! and feel the words throb on the page. 
And hear them thrill with love or hiss in rage. 
In them, 'twixt joys and sorrows to vibrate. 
With them, like God within the universe, be able 
to create. 



48 A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 

A MARCH ROSE 

(From the French of Lucian Pate) 

The wind whirls and scatters about 
The leaves of the spring time past: 
It strews the walls and leaves broadcast 

With these shiverers put to rout. 

Its breath is soft and warm, howe'er, 

Already the violet opes 

Its tender leaves on southern slopes, 
Announcing spring is near. 

The wood looks bare and dead. 
All grey and bare is the hill. 
And the crows call loud and shrill. 

Beclouding the sky o'erhead. 

Meanwhile 'neath the sheltering hood 
Of a trellis, a lone rose floats, 

A chaffinch from a neighboring wood 
Is piping his clarion notes. 

'Tis the morning watch of the year 
Ere the grand reveille sounds, 
The frost-king, in his nightly rounds, 

Takes the flowers that too soon appear. 



A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 49 



The fickle sun a warm caress 

Bestows, sometimes, at others, cold. 
The snow spreads over field and wold 

The soft folds of its fleecy dress. 

Cricket and grasshopper repose. 
Each in his quiet hiding place. 
While lifting up its happy face. 

Behold the Bengal rose! 

Beaming away with quiet grace — 
Too venturesome, I feel assured. 
Poor dear ! the spring hath it allured 

To the frost-king's chill embrace. 



50 A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 

TIME'S FLIGHT 
(From the French of Paul Bourget) 

I know a pretty spot on the high seashore, 
Where the sweet-scented thyme grows wild at your 

feet, 
Where sea, rocks, and sky in the far distance meet. 
And the soul at its ease can dreamily soar. 

I took you there with me one bright day ere- 

while, — 
Beneath your broad hat which your charms well 

displayed. 
Your loose flowing locks a sweet picture made, 
While the sea, so serene, like a god seemed to 

smile. 

Your dainty black boots pressed lightly the grass. 
Your soul looked out from the depths of your eyes, 
Which seeing, I felt a desire arise, 
Slowly forever these sweet hours to pass. 



A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 51 

THE SEA 
(From the French of Lamartine's Meditation XIV) 

Borne ever along toward a distant clime 
In eternal night driven onward for aye, 
May we not pause on the ocean of time, 
Cast anchor a single day? 

The year has scarce ended its course, O Sea! 
Near thy waves which she was to see again. 
Behold ! I sit me alone here with thee 
Where thou sawest her sit then. 

Thus, didst thou groan 'neath the rocks that day, 
And thus, 'gainst their bold rugged flanks didst 

beat, 
And thus, the wind scattered the foaming spray 
O'er her beloved feet. 

That night we voyaged alone 'twixt thy shores. 
Thy dark waves reflecting the sky o'er-starred. 
No sound save the rhythmic dip of the oars 
The solemn stillness marred. 

Sweet music suddenly fell on my ear 
From the charmed shores reechoed the sound. 
The waves paused to listen — a voice to me dear 
Let fall these words profound: 



52 A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 

"O Time^ happy hours, suspend thy flight! 
Speed not so quickly away. 
Let us taste to the full the swift delight 
Of this our happiest day! 

"Enough poor unfortunates here below 
Implore thee onward forever to speed, 
Carrying with thee their sorrow and woe. 
Of the happy then take no heed/' 

But I ask in vain for a moment's stay 

For time takes quickly its flight. 
Then I cry aloud: "Not so fast, I pray!" 

But Aurora dispels the night. 

Let us love and enjoy the fugitive hour, 
Haste and be happy then while we may. 
Man has no port and time has no shore. 
It flows and bears us away. 

O Time, can it be that these moments of bliss 
When love fills the soul with its rapture sublime 
Can slip from our grasp with like speediness 
As those filled with sorrow and crime.? 

What! must thou not leave us a single trace! 
What ! passed quite away — lost, forever more ! 
O cruel Time, dost but build to efface. 
And naught to us restore.? 



A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 53 

Eternity, fathomless, dark abyss. 

Where are the days thou hast swallowed from 

sight ! 
Speak ! wilt thou give back life's sweet ecstasies 
That have yielded to thy might? 

O Sea, sombre forest, rocks hoary with age 
That time may yet spare awhile from its blight, 
O Nature, preserve thou on thy ample page 
Some token of this blissful night. 

Be it in thy repose or thy mad unrest 
Or thy laughing shores that thou keepst a trace, 
O Sea, in thy pines or thy rocks' bold crest 
That bend o'er thy placid face, 

May it be in the winged zephyrs' flight. 
Or the sounds that echo from shore to shore. 
In the stars on the silvery brow of night 
That whiten thy surface o'er. 

May the rushes sighing a sweet refrain, 
And the fragrant breezes murmuring low. 
And all the sounds that are heard, proclaim, 
"They loved in the long ago." 



54 A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 



COLD LOVE 
(From the French of P. Bilhout) 

Stern winter with his mantle white 

The slumb'ring earth had covered o'er, 

When sitting by my fire one night 

I heard a tapping at my door. 

"Who's there?" " 'Tis I," replied some one, 

"Make room for me by the fire, please, 

I'm little Cupid, Venus' son. 

Let me in quick! or I shall freeze." 

— "Pass on then — 
Pass on then. Master Cupid, please. 
To love, I've lost the art, alas! 
In solitude I dwell at ease. — 
Pass on then, Master Cupid, pass." 

The rogue tapped louder than before 
While with a piteous voice he said, 
"If I'm found frozen at your door 
My blood will be upon your head. 
It is so little I implore" — 
His voice was trembling as he spoke. 
A blast of wind that shook the door 
The ice upon my hard heart broke. 



A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 55 



— "Come in then — 
Come in then, Master Cupid, please, 
You may for just a moment stay. 
Warm yourself quick, and take your leave. 
Come in then. Master Cupid, pray." 

The rascal near the fire sped 

With the greatest freedom in the world. 

And saucily looked up and said, 

"See my blue eyes and gold locks curled.?*' 

Thus was installed within my heart 

That love which me the rude winds bore, 

For he's forgotten to depart 

And I forgot to ope my door. 

— "Remain then — 
Remain then. Master Cupid, do. 
The winter will be long this year. 
And here 'tis warm and cheery, too. 
Remain then. Master Cupid, here." 



56 A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 



LIFE'S SECRET 
(From the French of Arvers) 

Life hath its secret, my heart doth conceal it. 
Love o'er me hath quickly its magic spell 

wrought^ 
But she who hath caused it, knoweth it not. 
As my love is hopeless, I must not reveal it. 
I shall ever be near her though all unperceived, 
Ever close at her side, yet alone in my woe. 
I shall thus to the end pass my time here below — 
Daring nothing to ask, having nothing received. 

God has made her kind and gracious to all. 
She walks her own way, nor hears my heart call — 
This murmur of love 'round her pathway ascend- 
ing— 

The stern voice of duty conscientiously heeding, 
She will say, while this sonnet to her she is read- 
ing, 
"Who then, is this woman .^'* yet naught compre- 
hending. 



A GARNERED AUTNMN SHEAF 57 

SONNET TO AN AMERICAN LADY 
(From the French of Fontanry) 

Beneath the mantilla in vain thou mayst hide 
Thy long golden locks and delicate brow. 
Of this burning clime no daughter art thou, 
Thy soul, above all, here a stranger doth bide. 
The proud senoritas have dark fearless eyes, 
Perhaps more of fire in their sparkling glance. 
While thine a glistening tear doth enhance, 
And in their far depths is the blue of the skies. 

In Spain are no forests like thine so grand 
Here let not the breath of Afric's hot strand 
The young bud wither so rosy and fair. 

In this soil where love doth the soul consume. 
Flower of the north, just budding in bloom. 
Guard the heart's pure dew with tenderest care. 



58 A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 

MEMORY 
(From the French of Dumas, fils) 

Wouldst overtake me? Knowest thou who am I? 

I am the swift gazelle: 
I weary the wind whose speed I excell 
When pressed by the Arab o'er the desert I fly. 

But I'm swifter than thou or aught else in the 

world. 
I'm lightning, and clouds I rend: 
I crumble the mountains, make blind, and death 

send. 
Yes. I surpass all for by God I am hurled. 

Ah well, I deceived thee: I'm the loftiest tree 

Upon a mountain so high 
That solitude only as companion have I: 
No bird e'en is able to soar up to me. 

What matters ! I go where a bird cannot fly, 

I am the snow, soft and white. 
I can, spite of thee: on thy branches alight. 
From below I come not, but from regions on high. 

Knowest thou once for all, I'm the heart grown old 

Where flowers no longer may bloom. 
I'm the dark night to which dawn will ne'er come. 
And no more for me does the dim future hold. 



A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 59 

Therefore, from the future I come not to thee. 

For that gentle thought am I 
That the hardest of thoughts can never put by. 
Then open to me, for I'm sweet memory. 



60 A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 

CANTICLE 

(From the French of Racine) 

My God, what strife in me doth rage! 

Two adverse natures dwell in me. 

One would, being full of love for Thee, 
That I to Thee my heart engage. 
The other 'gainst Thee war doth wage. 

And teaches me disloyalty. 

The one with gentleness is blest — 
To Heavenly things is all inclined, 
And by God's love touched and refined, 

Would that I count for naught the rest. 

The other with an equal zest 

To earthly things inclines my mind. 

At war with self, alas, what thought I 
Where can I find a peaceful state? 
I will, and yet, O cruel fate! 

I will, but ne'er accomplish aught. 

The good, I love, have never wrought, 
But do the evil that I hate. 

O Grace! O Ray of Light divine! 

Put these two selves in harmony. 

Give me the power to break gently 
That stubborn will opposed to Thine. 
Make me thy slave, O Father, mine, 

And from death's bondage set me free. 



A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 61 

AN EVENING REVERIE 
(From the French of Paul Bourget) 

The soft evening breeze murmured low through 

the trees. 
And the ivy vine shook o'er the pagan deities — 

Their grim marble forms half hidden from view: 
It sighed through an ash and its russet leaves 

stirred. 
In a sombre fir tree it sadly whispered, 

And fanned the green shoots freshly moistened 
with dew. 

In the grass the frail Easter daisies reclined. 

By their white collarettes they were clearly defined 

With a mingling of fawn tints and buttons of 
gold. 
The speedwell opened its chalice pale blue, 
And close by the garden arose in full view 

Against the grey sky a church steeple old. 

On this evening in May to the old church I 

strolled. 
On whose dingy walls stained and covered with 

mould, 
I saw an old fresco that was painted of yore. 
'Twas a virgin's profile with eyes full of thought, 
And long drooping lashes by a master hand 

wrought : 



62 A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 

Of these eyes there remained but a shadow — 
no more. 

And I mused, as I listened to sweet songs of love 
By invisible birds in the branches above, 

Pouring forth their glad songs on the air fresh 
and pure, 
That this lovely profile now almost effaced 
Which a genius unknown had so delicately traced, 

Could not at the most but a few years endure. 

And I fancied there oft, in our visions sublime, 
Are sacred ideals which we painted some time 

In our heart — to all real things superior. 
Like this ancient fresco, they are fading away. 
Irreparably so, as passes each day. 

O wreckage of our cloisters interior! 

O grief, to preserve thus in this sacred fane 
But the brand of that which once kindled to flame ! 

O remorse, for having these visions survived ! 
Just enough cherishing as a sacred duty 
O'er which we may weep their perishing beauty — 

A madonna's profile to which Aves are sighed. 

And the evening shades fell which night's chorus 

brings. 
With the beating of leaves by myriads of wings. 
The more the flowers shed their sweet fragrance 
around. 



A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 65 

The more the birds sang and all life was astir 
Swimming the air with hum and murmur, 
And more stars shone out from their dusky 
background. 

And behold, what befell on that glorious spring 

day ! 
The grief in my heart almost faded away, 

When I thought, — all must die, — all revive, — 
e'en the flowers. 
The birds and the grass, and the leaves on each 

tree; 
O Spirit of nature, can it, indeed, be — 

This renewal shall reach not to these hearts of 



We can not know all, — life's mysterious birth. 
Nor whither we go from our sojourn on earth — 
Where vain hopes and fears our whole life con- 
trol. 
But who will dare say there is naught to hope, 

then. 
Beyond the horizon of mortal man's ken. 

And that death is awaiting both body and soul? 

Man's nature protests against death, in the ex- 
treme : 
All ardently sigh toward a Father Supreme, 



64 A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 

Who will gather us to Him beyond earth's con- 
fine: 
'Tis to Him that arises our thoughts most sublime: 
In Him^ when we're freed from ravening time, 

Shall we not realize a renewal divine? 

A rejuvenating of our forces long spent, 

A happy awak'ning of these frescoes ancient — 

The pious ideals of days long gone by? 
It may be effaced, this madonna mortal, 
But the rare type of beauty, which served as model 

To the old Christian master, smiles at him in the 
sky. 

Nothing can perish of the beauty of earth. 
Life's fertile springs gush eternally forth. 

A perpetual spring shall the pure ever know. 
How it pours forth on this balmy spring night 
In floods of gay blossoms making all things de- 
light ! 
And thousands of years have not lessened its 
flow. 



A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 65 

SPRING WITHOUT ROSES 
(From the French) 

The earth is aweary of winter's harsh reign. 
The gard'ner laments with a voice full of gloom, 
"Ah, the rude hand of winter the young spring has 

slain. 
And the roses will not be in bloom." 

The roses will bloom not, short time was required. 
In mourning to clothe the queen month of the year. 
The earth in gay garments will not be attired. 
No fete days will greet us with cheer. 

The earth owes to May the skies' tender blue. 
The spring's rosy smile, its breath's sweet perfume. 
For a time the May skies may take on a dull hue 
If the roses should not be in bloom. 

The earth, indeed, roses to true lovers owes. 

For no other flower so fragrant has proved. 

'Tis the only flower worthy, when plighting of 

vows. 
To be offered to one's best beloved. 

And I fear, ah, I feel a mysterious fate 

Some fatal spell weaves that between them may 

come. 
In the heart in the spring will love germinate 
If the roses should not be in bloom .^ 



66 A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 



MOONLIGHT ON THE SEA 
(From the French of Leconte De Lisle) 

Calm^ grey, and vast, the sea doth far extend: 

Without beginning 'tis and without end. 
Its boundlessness the eye explores in vain; 

Nor night, nor day, dwells on the wat'ry main. 
No line of foam its placidness doth mar. 

In heaven's dome gleams not a single star. 
No sudden flash of light or slightest ray — 

'Tis not the dark of night or light of day. 
The sea-bird's flown, the dwellers of the deep 

Upon its bosom have been rocked to sleep. 
Around, above, profoundest solitude 

And drowsy languidness o'er all doth brood. 
But now, a white light toward the eastern skies, 

Above the sea's far rim begins to rise. 
And like a cloudlet in its gentle flight 

From which forth issue flakes of fleecy light. 
It floats, and breaks, and scatters far and wide. 

And brightens all the sky on every side, — 
Now whirls and falls again, a wildering maze — 

And sheds o'er all a soft translucent haze: 
Through which a feeble light begins to peep 

And tremble on the bosom of the deep. 
Now o'er the pearly skies the moon doth glide. 

And darts her silvery arrows far and wide. 



A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 67 



THE SIESTA 

(From the French of Heredia) 

Not a sound of insect mars the calm serene. 
In the wood all are sleeping oppressed with the 
heat. 
A mellow light sifts through my leafy retreat 
Like the shifting shadows o'er velvet moss- 
green. 
Down through the leafy dome the wand'ring rays 
peep. 
O'er my lids half closed with the languor of sleep 
A thousand soft lights a rosy net-work form, 
Now length'ning, now broad'ning, o'er shadows 
soft and warm. 
In the shimmering light which the sun's rays trail. 
Swarms of gay butterflies on gauzy wings sail, 
Drunk with sweet odors and dazzling sun-beams. 
Then with listless fingers I grasp the bright 
strands. 
In their golden meshes entang'ling my hands, 
Thus imprisoned, I'm borne to the land of 
dreams. 



68 A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 



OCTOBER 

(From the French) 

Ere winter dons her icy coat 

And veils the sky with vapours chilly 

List to the wood bird's farewell note. 
Behold the rose that lingers still. 

October marches with slow tread, 

That autumn's splendors may remain. 

Her hazy purple and golden red 
A solemn beauty still retain. 

Thou knowest it may not longer bide. 
Though nature wears a plaintive smile. 

Awake, sad heart, throw cares aside 
And fleeting hours with hope beguile. 

Weave golden dreams in fancy's loom 

Ere winter blusters at our door. 
And in a cold and icy tomb 

Crushed hopes, with dead leaves, covers o'er. 



A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 69 



NOVEMBER 

(From the French) 

A captive of winter's stern reign, 

Neath a dull November sky. 
Weary of hopes long deferred, I sit 

Watching the birds southward fly. 

I fancy they're cold and wet, poor things! 

But in sun-kissed lands far away 
They can shake the cold rain from their wings 

And bask in the sunbeams all day. 

My soul like the warbler is sad 

And droops under rainy skies: 
But the sun which maketh it glad 

Is the glance of two soft bright eyes. 

From which I am exiled afar 

More a martyr than birds, for I fain, 

Like them, would on swift wings fly 

But am fettered with duty's strong chain. 



70 A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 



SAVITRrS VOW; OR, PERSEVERANCE 

(From the French of Verlaine) 

To save her husband's life, Savitri vowed to God 
To stand erect three days and nights entire. 
Nor move a limb till this time should expire, 
But stand as rigid as an iron rod. 

Nor Surya's scorching beams, languor, nor sleep 
Which Chandra sheds at midnight over all. 
Could make her falter or her courage fall, 
But nobly did she strive her vow to keep. 

When darkness like a cloud obscures our sky. 
Or malice aims at us her cruel darts. 
Then, like Savitri, let us steel our hearts 
Against adversity, and our aim make high. 



A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 71 

THE BROOK 

(From the German) 

Brooklet flowing, 

Onward going, 
Ever farther in the chase — 

Wavelets shimmering, 

Dancing, glimmering, 
As they leap from place to place. 

No drop may stay 

But urged away 
It pauses never day or night. 

Gaily singing, 

Onward springing. 
Soon it vanishes from sight. 

Waters flowing, 

Always going, 
May with life's hours well compare: 

All unheeding, 

Moments speeding, 
Which to children irksome are. 

Thus it preaches 

And us teaches 
To hold life's morning hours more dear — 

For soon they're run, 

They wait for none, 
And never more will reappear. 



72 A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 



FLOWERS 

(From the German of Schiller) 



Children of the gladsome sunbeams, 

Flowerets of the grassy mead. 
Born to pleasure and sweet day-dreams — 

Ye are by nature loved, indeed. 
Gay your dress 'broidered with light, 
Gay did Flora you bedight 

In splendors of the rainbow's hue. 
Grieve, dear children, of the springtide! 
Soul she hath to you denied, 

And ye dwell in darkness, too. 

Nightingale and lark do sing 

To you of true love's blessed charms. 
While sportive fairies lightly swing 

And woo each other in your arms. 
And did not the goddess Flora 
Curve for you your crown of glory 

Swelling to the thrill of love? 
Weep, dear children of the springtide! 
Love she hath to you denied. 

Love, that blessing from above. 



A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 73 

But when mother's stern commands 

Banish me from Nanny's view — 
When I pluck ye with my hands, 

To her a love pledge to be true, 
Life, and speech, and soul, and heart — 
Dumb messengers of love's sweet smart — 

Are by this touch infused in ye. 
The mightiest of gods inweaves 
Into your silent sensuous leaves 

His own divinity. 



74 A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 

ENTERTAINMENT 

(From the German of Uhland) 

I put up at a wayside inn — 

The host a jolly fellow — 
An apple branch had for a sign 

With apples golden yellow. 

It was a friendly apple tree 

With whom I stopped to eat, 
He furnished me right cheerfully 

With juicy food, and sweet. 

And winged guests were welcome too 

Who sang with wildest glee. 
And hopped and skipped from bough to bough 

And feasted royally. 

My rest was sweet, my bed of moss — 

As soft as down was made. 
The host then covered me across 

With a cool and grateful shade. 

I asked what recompense would he, 

He waved me in protest. 
O blessed be that goodly tree 

From root to topmost crest. 



A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 75 

THE LORELEI 

(From the German of Heine) 

I know not what it means or why 

Myself so sad I find. 
A legend from the times gone by 

Keeps running in my mind. 

The air is cool and it darkles 

And softly flows the Rhine. 
The crest of the mountain sparkles 

In the evening's pale sunshine. 

A maid sits on a rocky height — 

Her beauty wondrous rare — 
Her jewels glint in the waning light. 

She combs her golden hair. 

She combs it with a golden comb 
And chants a song the while — 

A weird and winsome melody — 
Which doth the soul beguile. 

The boatman in his little skiff 
Is seized with a wild delight. 

He sees not the fatal rocky reef^ 
But only the maid on the height. 



76 A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 

I fear me the boat and boatman 
Will be engulfed ere long. 

This will the Lorelei have done 
With the witchery of her song. 



A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 77 

ODE TO SPRING 

(From the German of Schiller) 

Welcome, pretty youngster. 

Thou Nature's child indeed ! 
With thy full flower basket 

Thou'rt welcome on the mead. 

Ah, yes, thou art again here, 

And art so dear and sweet, 
It gives us so much pleasure 

Again with thee to meet. 

Rememberest thou my sweetheart? 

What, dearie, thinkest thou? 
My sweetheart loved me then, dear. 

My sweetheart loves me now. 

For her so many blossoms 

I've begged of thee before, 
I come again to ask thee. 

And thou, thou'lt give me more? 

O, welcome pretty youngster. 

Thou Nature's child indeed ! 
With thy full flower basket 

Thou'rt welcome on the mead. 



78 A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 



THE HOSTAGE; 

or, 

DAMON AND PYTHIAS 

(From the German of Schiller) 

To Dyonisius, the tyrant, one day. 
Came Damon with dagger concealed. 
The bailiff soon forced him to yield. 

"What wouldst thou do with the dagger? say!' 
And Damon replied in a haughty way: 

"The town from the tyrant set free." 

"For this thou shalt swing from a tree." 

"I'm ready/' quoth he, "the gallows to face 
And beg not my life you may spare: 
Yet wouldst thou grant me one prayer 
I'd pray thee for three days of grace, 
Till my sister's hand in her husband's I place. 

My friend here as hostage will stay. 

If I fail, he the forfeit will pay." 

Then smiled the king with a cunning leer, 
And after a moment's delay 
He said, "I will grant you this stay. 
But know when the time for thee to appear 
Has passed away, and thou art not here. 
Thy friend must die in thy stead. 
But no harm shall fall on thy head." 



A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 79 

Then he said to his friend: "The king hath de- 
creed 

That I must my crime 'gainst the state 

With my life, on the cross, expiate. 

To grant me three days of time he agreed. 

That I to my sister's wedding may speed. 
Remain here as surety for me 
Till I come when thou shalt go free." 

The true friend in silence the other embraced: 
Then obeyed his friend's earnest petition. 
While the other went forth on his mission. 
And ere he three times the morning red traced. 
His sister's hand in her husband's he placed: 
And hasted with fear in his soul 
Lest he might not in time reach his goal. 

Then pours unceasing the rain o'er the land. 
From mountains the torrents go roaring, 
And brooks into rivers are pouring. 
And he comes to the bank with staff in hand. 
The whirlpool has wrested the bridge from the 
strand. 

And thund'ring billows are breaking. 

And creaking timbers are quaking. 

Now desperate he toiled 'long the oozing sand. 
But as far as the eye could explore. 
Or the voice might be sent to the shore, 



80 A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 

There pushed no boat from the farther strand, 
To bear him onto the wished-for land: 

No boatman the ferry to guide, 

And the stream turned to sea wild and wide. 

He sinks on the bank and weeps and prays. 

With hands raised to Zeus he cried: 

"O make the wild billows subside! 

The hours are speeding, and at midday stays 

The sun, while pours down his burning rays. 
If I cannot reach him in time. 
My dear friend must die for my crime." 

The waters increased their angry mood. 

And wave upon wave dashed high. 

And hour upon hour passed by. 

Then seized with strange fear, a moment he stood. 

Then plunged headlong in the roaring flood, 

And struck for the farther shore. 

God pitied and brought him safe o'er. 

He gained the shore and onward strode. 

And thanked the Lord for his pity. 

When suddenly ruthless banditti 
Sprang out of the dark and gloomy wood. 
They bar his pathway, thirsting for blood. 

They brandish a club in his face. 

Thus checking his hurrying pace. 



A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 81 



"What would ye," he cried, and paled with fright; 
"To give you I have not a thing 
But my life which belongs to the king." 
Then he seized the club from the nearest wight, 
"For my dear friend's sake, God pity your plight!" 
And three with stout blows he laid out, 
And the others he put to rout. 
And the sun shone red like a burning brand, 
And from endless toils profound, 
Exhausted he sank on the ground. 
"O hast thou kindly from the robbers' hand. 
And the wild flood brought me to blessed land! 
And must I now of thirst perish. 
And my friend die whom I should cherish?" 
But hark! a tinkling sound makes him thrill. 
He pauses a moment to listen. 
When lo, he sees something glisten. 
As forth from the rocks and adown the hill 
Comes bubbling and chatt'ring a sparkling rill. 

With delight he bends o'er the brink. 
And slaked his thirst with a cooling drink. 

And the sun peeped low down the sky, 

And painted the shim'ring meadows 

With the trees' gigantic shadows. 
And he sees two travelers passing by, 
With hurrying steps they seem to fly. 

Then heard he the words they said: 

"By this hour he must be dead." 



82 A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 

And fear lent wings to his flying feet. 

With anguish he is sore distressed. 

The evening red glows in the west, 
And falls on the spires of Syracuse. 
Then comes to meet him Philostratus, 

The keeper of his house and folds. 

Who with horror his master beholds. 

"Turn back, thy friend ere this is slain. 

Thou'dst better thine own life save. 

E'en now they're digging his grave. 
Hour upon hour he waited in vain. 
With hope in his soul, thy coming again. 

No tauntings the king could make. 

His faith in thy honor could shake." 

"And though I'm too late, yet hasten I must. 

For though I cannot set him free 

United in death we shall be. 
Of this shall the bloody tyrant not boast. 
That friend to friend, his life could not trust. 

He may sacrifice two, in sooth^ 

On the altar of love and truth." 

When the sun went down, he stood at the gate. 
The cross erected he found. 
And the gaping crowd standing 'round. 
With the rope 'round his friend awaiting his fate. 
He parted the throng with a striding gait. 
"Hold hangman! I'm come!" shouted he, 
"Spare my friend who is hostage for me." 



A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 83 

And astonishment stirred the throng to cheers. 

Both wept in each other's arms 

With a mingling of joy and alarms. 
And everyone's eyes were wet with tears^ 
And the marvel was brought to the monarch's 
ears. 

Whose heart with pity o'er-wrought 

He had them before him brought. 

He looked them o'er with admiring gaze ; 

Then said, "You have gained your end 

And won my heart, and a friend: 
For I would your comrade be always. 
And faith is, indeed, no empty phrase; 

And would'st thou grant a prayer to me 

The third in thy bond I'd be." 



84 A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 



ALPINE MELODY 

(From the German of Schiller's Wilhelm Tell) 

The sea laughs inviting to bathe in its surf: 
A fisher boy sleeps by its side on the turf. 

He hears a sweet ringing 

Like the flute's silvery notes. 

Or angel choirs singing 

Which from paradise floats. 
And as he wakes in rapturous glee 
High up on his breast wash the waves of the sea. 

And a voice from the deeps 

Cries, "Dear boy, dost thou know 

I allure him who sleeps 

To my kingdom below?" 

(First Variation) 

Ye meadows, good bye ! 

Ye pastures, so sunny! 

The herdsman so bonny 

With summer must hie. 
We go to the mountains, we come again soon 
When the cuckoo calls and the woods are in tune. 
When the earth is a-bloom with flowers fresh and 

gay, 

When the mountain streams flow, in May, lovely 
May. 



A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 85 

Green pastures^ good bye! 
Ye valleys^ and mead. 
The herdsman must speed 
For Autumn is nigh. 

{Second Variation) 

The avalanche thunders, and tremble all things 
While the bold hunter, fearless, o'er dizzy heights 
springs. 

And onward he strides 

O'er icefields all sheen: 

No spring there abides. 

No shrubs ever green. 
And under his feet lies a nebulous sea. 
The hamlets of man no more discerns he. 

Alone through cloud-rifts 

The earth is revealed. 

Deep under the mists — 

A broad, verdant field. 



86 A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 



WINTER SONG 
(From the German) 



Why liest thou so stilly bedight 
In thy soft covering of white^ 

Dear^ gentle, mother Earth? 
Where are the gladsome songs of spring. 
And summer birds on glancing wing, 

Thy gala robes and festal mirth? 

Thou slumber'st now so bare and cold. 
The tender flocks leave not their fold 

To graze o'er vale or steep. 
The hum of bee, the purling rill. 
And song of bird are hushed and still. — 

Yet, art thou beautiful in sleep. 

From twig and bough a shimm'ring stream 
Of lights, by thousands, glint and gleam 

Where'er the eye can see. 
Who has prepared for thee thy bed. 
The covering so lightly spread 

Bedecked with hoar-frost filigree? 



A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 87 

Thy Father above with tender care 
For thee thy garments doth prepare. 

He guards thee day and night. 
Then slumber thou in perfect rest, 
He'll wake the weary when 'tis best — 

Renewed their strength and light. 

And soon His breath will o'er thee sweep 
And wake thee from thy dreamless sleep — 

Rejuvenated thou. 
Again reglorified thou'lt stand 
With smiling face and generous hand, 

And garlanded thy brow. 



88 A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 

THE THORNTREE 

(From the German of Ruskert) 

A little tree stood in the wood 

In weather good and weather bad. 

It had no leaves like other trees 

But thorns alone it had. 
The thorns were always pricking. 
The tree began thus speaking: 

"All my comrades, as you know, 

The prettiest foliage adorns, 

While I am clothed from top to toe 

With only prickly thorns. 
If I might dare to be so bold, 
I'd wish for leaves of purest gold." 

It slept that night, as I've been told. 
And woke next morn in perfect glee. 
For there it stood with leaves of gold — 
A splendid sight to see. 
It proudly spoke then, "Without doubt 
I've the only gold leaves here about." 

At evening, as might have been feared. 
There passed a gold thief through the wold 
With a great sack and heavy beard. 
Who saw the leaves of shining gold. 

He stripped them off and soon was gone 

And left the bare tree there alone. 



A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 89 

The tree with grief then hung its head 

And in a voice of sorrow said, 

"I feel ashamed before the rest 

Who, all in pretty leaves, are dressed. 
If my wish now might come to pass 
I'd wish for leaves of clearest glass." 

The tree then went to sleep again 

And early woke again with glee, 

For it had leaves of glass on then, 

A splendid sight to see! 
Then spoke the tree with joy, "I know 
No other tree e'er glistened so." 

Alas ! a whirlwind fiercely blew, 

Which more destructive proved than thieves. 

It quickly passed the forest through 

And shattered all its leaves. 
There lay the sparkling leaves of glass. 
Scattered and broken in the grass. 

The tree then spoke as in the past, 

"Behold this sad disastrous scene! 

The other trees much longer last 

With foliage of green. 
If I might wish again, I'm sure 
I'd choose green leaves which long endure." 



90 A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 



Then slept the tree again at e'en 

And woke again with morning light. 

And there it stood with leaves of green, 

And laughed with pure delight, 
And said, "Now have I leaves, indeed. 
To be ashamed I've no more need." 

There came an old goat through the wood 

And toward the tree she quickly sprung. 

She sought for grass and other food 

To feed her young. 
She saw the leaves, and (what must shock) 
She ate them up close to the stalk. 

The little tree again was bare 
And musing sadly thus he said: 
"For any leaves no more I care. 
Or yellow, green, or red. 
If I could have my thorns again 
I'm sure I would no more complain." 

And sadly slept the tree again 
And woke soon as 'twas light, 
There saw itself in the bright sunshine 
And laughed, and laughed, outright. 

The other trees then laughed also. 

To it, it made no difference though. 



A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 91 



Wherefore laughed the thorntree then? 

And wherefore laughed his comrades so? 

Why, in the night 'twas clothed .again 

With thorns from top to toe. 
And any one who doubts it should 
Go out and see it in the wood. 
But touch it not if you should go. 
Why not? Because 'twill stick, you know. 



92 A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 



THE GERMAN MUSE 

(From the German of Schiller) 

No Augustine Era flowered, 

No Medici their favors showered 

With smiles upon the German art. 
No fostering care around it thrown 
It grew and; blossomed all alone, 

Nor princes' favors lent it heart. 

From Germany's most valiant son, 
From great Frederick, the favored one, 

All unhonored it went forth. 
Exulting with a glowing heart 
The German may proclaim j his art 

Self-nurtured by inherent worth. 

Therefore mounts to loftier height 
German genius in its flight — 

With the German bard inborn. 
And with sense of fullness swelling. 
From his heart's depth freely welling 

He laughs restraint of rules to scorn. 



A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 93 



RECOGNITION 

(From the German of Vogl) 

A weary trav'ler with staff in hand 
Comes home again from a foreign land. 
His hair is unkempt, and bronzed his skin. 
Whoever would know him, or kith or kin? 
On the old turnpike he enters the town: 
He leans on the gate, looking wistfully 'round. 
The tollman, who once was his friend, alas. 
With whom he had oft drained a social glass, 
Remembers him not as he sees him now — 
So bronzed by the sun are his cheeks and brow. 
With a nod he moves farther down the street 
And shakes the dust from his weary feet. 

From the window his sister's dear face he spies. 
"Happy greeting to thee, blooming maiden," he 

cries. 
But, alas, his own sister remembers him not, 
So bronzed is his face with the sunbeams hot. 

Then onward he goes, unable to speak. 
While a glistening tear rolls down his dark cheek. 
Then totters his mother a few steps before, 
"God bless thee !" he cries, and can utter no more. 
But see! his old mother is sobbing for joy 
And cries, as she falls on his neck, "My dear boy!" 
However sunburnt or changed he may grow. 
The mother's heart ever her own boy will know. 



\H A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 



SPRING'S RETURN 

(From the German of Tieck) 



The young Spring forgets not to come back again, 
And swallows and storks wing homeward their 

flight: 
Tho' winter has hardly relinquished his reign, 
This happy child wakens, and laughs with delight. 

r ■ ■ r ■ / : 
i k 

He hunts up his playthings from corners remote 
Which winter has hidden or mislaid, I ween, 
And tunes to sweet music the nightingale's throat, 
And dresses the forest in robes of pale green. 

\ 
He touches fruit trees with a glowing hand. 

He climbs high up on the apricot wall. 

Like snow, the white blossoms ope at command. 

And he gleefully laughs that they come at his call. 

^17^ iwwwi 

He goes to the forest and lies down to sleep: 
His warm breath exhales o'er the cold, dewy sod; 
Then around his red lips the strawberries creep. 
And in the low grass the violets nod. 
How the valley laughs in the morning dew. 
With its mingled tints of rose and blue! 



A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 95 



Then into the garden with fast barred gate, 
He climbs o'er the fence, nor waits for time; 
He likes not for keys, or for aught else to wait. 
No wall for him is too steep to climb. 

He clears the snow and ice from his way, 
And cuts it off from the box-hedge, too, 
Nor stops to rest at the close of day. 
But merrily toils the whole night through. 

Then he calls aloud to his school-mates dear, 
"Why tarry ye in the earth so long? 
Have I not asked you to join me here, 
To frolic and sport with mirth and song?" 

The lily reached forth her white hand at request; 

The tulip in head-dress answered the call; 

The modest rose blushed as she joined with the 

rest — 
Cowslips, and other flowers, great and small. 
* * * * 

But soon the Spring kissed them a fond farewell. 
"I must up and be gone, alas," he cried. 
For with them longer he might not dwell: 
Then the flowers drooped on their stems and died. 

He said to them sadly, "My work is done. 
The swallows have come at my request. 
They'll bear me away to the land of the sun, 
In the odorous fields of Ind, I'll rest. 



96 A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 

"I am too small the fruit to pluck, 
And to strip the vine of its purple weight, 
With the scythe the golden grain to cut. 
Therefore the Autumn I'll send }^ou straight. 

*T'm only a child, and love to play; 

Hard work I am never disposed to do, 

But, when you are tired of Winter's long stay. 

With joy and delight I'll come back to you. 

"I'll take the birds with me when I depart: 
When the harvest is o'er, what should they do 

here ? 
Adieu, adieu, where there's love in the heart 
The joys of spring are eternally near." 



A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 97 



THE CHILDREN IN THE WOODS 

(From the German of Poui) 



Three children once stood by the way 
Who should have been at school that day. 
They talked of this and that with zest — 
How learning was a tiresome pest. 

Then said they in a careless mood, 
''Oh, let us go unto the wood ! 
The animals are used to play. 
Then let us romp with them today." 

So they invited the animals all 
To play with them, both great and small. 
"We're sorry, but, indeed," said they, 
"We really have no time to play." 

The beetle droned, " 'Twere fine, I guess. 
To roam with you in idleness. 
But I must build a bridge of gras^. 
The old one's no more safe to pass." 

The mouse spoke softly as he could, 
"I'm storing away my winter food." 
The dove, as busy as the rest. 
Was carrying twigs to build its nest. 



98 A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 

The hare then nodded and declared 
He could not from his work be spared. 
"My little tail is soiled, look! 
I must go wash it in the brook." 

The strawberry blossom softly said, 
"This pretty day must serve me stead 
To ripe my fruit, to make it sweet, 
That I may give the beggar to eat." 

They then bethought the brook to hail^ 
"Thou, chattering idly through the vale, 
Come play with us, be with us gay." 
The brook, astonished, answered, "Nay." 

"Ay ! if you children only knew ! 
I know not what to think of you! 
I've naught to do, you mean to say.^* 
Yet, rest I not through night or day. 

"Man and beast, wood, vale and mead. 
Hill, and plain, of me have need. 
All must drink whate'er their lot. 
Brew, and stew, and cleanse the pot. 

"Cradles rock, and mill-wheels drive. 
Lumber cut, ore pulverize. 
Great ships bear, yet never tire. 
Spin, and weave, and put out fire. 



A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 



99 



"I cannot tell all that I do, 
I can no longer stay with you. 
You see, I have no time to play." 
Thus spoke the brook and sped away. 

Their patience had been sorely tried 
When they at last a finch espied. 
Which sat upon a twig and swung. 
In careless glee he ate and sung. 

They called, "Sir Worthyman, how so! 
The prettiest songs you seem to know, 
For cert, you are a merry soul. 
Then come with ois and take a stroll." 

"Zounds! then have I heard aright? 
You children seem to me not bright. 
Here all day have I hunted flies, 
And busied myself otherwise 

"To gather food to feed my young, 
And now they must to sleep be sung. 
Thus with my brother choir today 
I sing my merriest roundelay. 

"But say, what reason could there be 
That you so ill have thought of me? 
Turn back, you idlers, I implore. 
Disturb the people here no more." 



iOO A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 

From beast, and bird, and flower, and brook, 
This lesson home the children took. 
That pleasure is a recompense 
Acquired alone by diligence. 



A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF lOl 



MIGNON'S SONG 

(From the German of Goethe's Wilhelm Meister) 



Knowest thou the land where the lemon trees grow ? 
Where under dark leaves golden oranges glow, 
Where 'neath the blue skies the soft zephyrs play. 
Land of the sweet-scented myrtle and bay? 
Knowest thou the place? 

Far away, far away, 
O, my belov'd, with thee let me go! 

Knowest thou the house with great pillars like 

snow 
Whose broad hall and chambers in the mellow light 

glow. 
With white marble figures whose gaze seems to say, 
"My poor child, what have they done to thee, 

pray !" 
Knowest thou the place? 

Far away, far away, 
O my protector, with thee let me go! 

Knowest the mountain, a white mist enshrouds ? 
Where the mule threads his way o'er a path in the 
clouds, 



102 A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 

Where the old dragon brood make their lair in the 

rifts, 
And the swift mountain torrents leap over the 

cliffs? 
Knowest thou the place? 

Far away, far away. 
Take me there with thee, O father, I pray! 



A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 103 



THE SONG OF THE BELL 

(From the German of Schiller) 

In the earth embedded fast 
Stands the mold formed out of clay. 
Today the great bell must be cast. 
Comrades, haste, make no delay. 

From the brow aglow 

Streams of sweat must flow. 
Shall the work the master, praise, 
The blessing comes from Heaven always. 

To work which we with zeal perform 
A good word seems not out of place, 
While conversation lends a charm 
The work flows on with merry pace. 
Then let us carefully reflect 
What through man's puny strength is wrought, 
And no man can deserve respect 
Who brings not to his work full thought. 
This, 'tis which most adorns man — hence, 
His mind, wherewith to understand, 
That he may feel with keener sense 
What he creates with his own hand. 

Make a fire of pitch pine timber 
Which must thoroughly be dried 
That the flame compressed inward 



104 A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 

Reach the molten ore inside. 

Boils the copper stew, 

Add the tin thereto, 
That the bell food, thus refined, 
To flow more smoothly be inclined. 

That which the hand of man hath power 
To build deep underneath the ground, 
High up within the belfry tower 
Proclaims him with sonorous sound. 
And down the ages it shall ring, 
And myriads shall hear its voice 
Attuned to those who sweetly sing, 
Or those who weep or who rejoice. 
Whate'er to mortals here below 
A changeful destiny may bring, 
The bell's tongue, swinging to and fro. 
Proclaims afar with brazen ring. 

See the bubbles rising thickly 
As the mass moves to and fro. 
Toss some potash in it quickly. 
Thus promote its liquid flow. 

For from foam quite free 

Must the mixture be. 
That the metal, clear and pure, 
A full, pure tone will thus insure. 

When ring the joybells far and wide 
They greet the babe whose tender charms 



A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 105 



Are budding in life's morning-tide 

Which it begins in slumber's arms. 

And time concealeth from his sight 

His destiny, or dark, or bright. 

The mother-love which guides while warning 

Tenderly watches his golden morning. 

The years fly by with arrow speed, 
The proud youth bids the maid adieu 
And wildly through life rushing fast 
He traverses the whole world through. 
And radiant in her youthfulness— 
A heavenly image wondrous fair, 
His cheeks aflame with bashfulness, 
He sees the maiden standing there. 

A nameless yearning fills his heart, 
He wanders forth with trembling lip, 
The gathering tears unbidden start. 
He shuns his boyish comradeship. 

Blushing, he follows her footstep's lead, 

Her greeting thrills him with pleasure keen, 

He plucks sweet blossoms on the mead 

With which he crowns her his heart's queen. 

O tender longing, blissful hope! 

O youth's first love, O love's first kiss! 

The gates of Heaven seem to ope. 

And thrills the heart with heavenly bliss. 

O could the glorious fresh spring-tide 

Of youth and love forever bide I 



106 A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAf' 

Now the pipes to brown begin 

Let us dip this splinter in. 

If we see it glazing o'er 

Then 'twill be quite right to pour. 

Comrades now make haste, 

Let us test the paste. 
If the brittle will combine 
With the soft, 'tis a good sign. 

Where hard and soft shall coalesce, 
Where strength unites with tenderness 
There, gives the true ring, pure and strong. 
Then prove, who would for aye be plighted. 
If heart to heart be firm united, 
For fancy's short, repentance, long. 
Lovely 'round the bride's locks clinging 
Sport the orange blossoms white. 
When the wedding bell's glad ringing 
Summons to the solemn rite. 

Ah, the happiest day of life 
Ends life's happy May, 'twould seem. 
With the wreath and bridal veil 
Dissolves the sweet illusive dream. 

For passion must fly. 
But love must endure. 
The blossom must die. 
That the fruit may mature. 



A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 107 

And man must go forth 

^nto unfriendly life, 

Must labor and strive, 

Must plant and produce 

\nd acquire with sharp use, 

With efforts untiring 

Good fortune acquiring. 
Thus man's possessions forever are growing. 
His granary with bountiful stores is o'erflowing, 
The rooms increase, the house is extended. 

And therein presides 

The prudent housewife — 

The mother of the children — 

Who wisely doth reign 

In the domestic domain. 

She teaches the maidens, 

Restraining the boys. 

Her hands with devotion 

Are ever in motion, 

Increasing their gains 

With laborious pains. 
Her odorous presses with treasure are filled. 
In spinning and weaving her hands are well 

skilled ; 
And gathered within this spotless shrine 
Are shimmering wools and linens fine. 
She turns to good all this shimmer and shine 
Nor rests she ever. 



108 A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 

And the father with happy gaze 
From his dwelling's far-seeing gable 
All his worldly wealth surveys. 
He sees his acres broad well tilled, 
His barns and sheds to their utmost filled. 
And the granary with blessings o'erflowing 
And fields of waving corn growing. 
And boasts with pride profound 
To be as firm as the ground — 
Against misfortune's shock 
His house is firm as a rock. — 
But to fickle fortune's might 
Our faith we should not plight. 
For misfortune speeds on wings. 

The casting now may be begun, 
See the scallops in the breach, 
But before we let it run 
Let us make a pious speech. 

Pull the plug therefrom. 

God protect our home. 
Smoking in the handle's bow 
The fiery mass begins to flow. 

With what beneficence is fire fraught 
When to do man's will 'tis taught, 
Whate'er he builds or by what power, 
He owes it to this heavenly dower, 
Yet, fearful is this heavenly gift 



A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 109 

Which left unwatched its bonds may rift. 

And swiftly move its path along — 

Nature's hand-maid free and strong. 

Woe, when loosened in its wrath. 

For none may dare dispute its path 

As onward like a thing of sense 

Through crowded streets the monster flies, 

For nature's willful elements 

The handiworks of man despise. 

Out of the clouds 

Fall blessings choice 

And rain down dashes. 

Out of the sky with rumbling voice 

The lightning flashes. 

Dost hear it whimper in the tower high? 

The storm is nigh ! 

Red as blood is the sk}^; 

That is not the red of day ! 

What a tumult 

Up the street ! 

Smoke and heat ! 

Fiery pillars tow'ring high 

Through the streets go rushing by 

Wind-swept reaching toward the sky. 

Lnrid as from furnace flashing 

Glows the air, rafters crashing, 

Timbers starting, windows creaking. 

Children wailing, mothers shrieking. 



110 A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 

Cattle bawling^ 

From wreckage crawling. 

People fleeing all affrighted. 

Bright as day the night is lighted. 

Here and there men combine. 

Form in line; 

Through their hands the pail now hurling, 

Water dashing, streaming, swirling. 

Howling comes the storm a-whirling, 

Seeking out the roaring flame 

Which rattles on the parching grain. 

On the spacious granary falls. 

On its timbers, roof, and walls, 

Onward in its madd'ning flight 

As if the very earth 'twould grasp 

And carry with it in its clasp. 

Stretching to the Heaven's height 

Giant great! 

Hopeless fate! 

Yields man to the power of God, 

Bending 'neath the chastening rod 

He sees his life's work swept from sight. 

All burnt down 
Is the town. 

Rude couch of the wild storm! 
In the blackened window holes 
Dwells horror's crown. 
And the lowering clouds look down 
From above. 



A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 111 

A single glance 
At the measure 
Of the wreck of all his treasure 
Sends man ere he makes advance. 
Whate'er with the fire's wrath is sped 
One consolation still has he: 
He counts his dear ones carefully 
And see ! there lacks not one dear head. 

Earth has received it now complete. 
Haply the mold was filled aright. 
Will it our expectations meet, 
Our diligence and skill requite? 

What if some mistake 

Has caused the mold to break? 
Perhaps while we have just conferred 
Some mishap may have occurred. 

Into the lap of Mother Earth 
Entrusted we this manual deed 
As the sower trusts the seed, 
And hopes to see it spring to birth 
For a blessing by Heaven decreed. 
More precious seed, with all endearment. 
Confide we to the lap of Earth, 
Hoping it may burst its cerement 
And blossom in a happier birth. 



112 A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 

From the steeple tolls the bell — 
A requiem with solemn knell, 
Whose plaintive echoes from the dome 
Guide the wand'rer to his last home. 

Ah_, the dear one — 'tis no other 
Than the loving wife and mother 
Whom death snatched away so rudely 
From her husband for the tomb — 
From the little brood of nestlings 
Which she bore him in her bloom. 
Which she watched with mother's pride 
Growing daily at her side. 
Ah, the dear home's little band 
Is shattered — gone is mother-care, 
For she dwells in the shadow land 
Who was once the mother there. 
And it lacks her gentle guiding 
Her tender watchfulness and care. 
Stranger hands will be presiding 
But mother-love will not be there. 

While we leave the bell to cool 
Let us from all labor rest, 
Sport like birds in shady pool. 
Enjoying all with keenest zest. 

Twinkle star of beauty, 

Free from every duty ! 
Delights the boy, the vesper ringing. 
The master, though, no respite bringing. 



A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 115 

Gaily through the woodland gloam 
Turns the footsteps of the wand'rer 
Toward his happy cottage home. 
Homeward turn the bleating sheep 
And the cattle — 

Sleek and glossy broad browed cattle — 
Come home lowing — 
To their accustomed manger going. 
Enters now the swaying wagon 
With grain laden, 
Gay with leaves, 
Upon the sheaves 
A wreath is placed, 
And the young folks now to dancing 
Fly in haste. 

Mart and street have ceased their din 
And around the social light 
All the household gathers in 
And the town gate closes tight. 

Now darkness like a pall 

Spreads out over all, 
And the trusting man inviteth 
Now to sleep, 

Tliough the wicked it affrighteth, 
For the eyes of the law their vigil keep. 

Holy order, blessings brings. 
Heaven's daughter, which like things 
Together binds, and doth create 



114 A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 

The civil glory of town and state. 
And from the wild and desert places 
Calls herein the savage races. 
Enters in the poor man's cot 
Softening his accustomed lot. 
And hath inbred the dearest band — 
The love of home and fatherland. 

A thousand busy hands in motion 
Help each other with delight. 
And in violent commotion 
All their forces quick unite. 
Master and men with like ambition 
'Neath freedom's banner standing fast, 
All content with their condition 
Defiance at the scorner cast. 
Labor is man's ornament. 
Blessing the price for labor spent. 
Moral worth honors a king. 
Toiling hands, us honor bring. 

Blessed peace, and 
Happy concord. 
Tarry, tarry. 

O'er our state keep kindly guard ! 
Never may the day appear 
When warring hordes shall enter here 
Laying waste our peaceful vale. 
Nor the heavens 



A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 115 

Which the sunset russet paints 

With its beams^ 

From the hamlet or the city 

Reflect the fierce flames' ruddy gleams. 

Let us break the mold apart. 
Its purpose having been fulfilled. 
That we may feast the eyes and heart 
On its smooth and shapely build. 

Swing the hammer, swing. 

Make the mantel spring! 
If the bell shall rise on high 
The mold must into pieces fly. 

The master may with proper blow 
Destroy the mold with his own hands. 
But woe, when like a volcano 
The molten ore shall burst its bands ! 
Blind, raging with a thund'rous roaring, 
Its jDrison bursts in fiery wrath. 
As from the jaws of hell outpouring 
It spews destruction in its path. 
Thus, when crude forces senseless reign. 
No plan can shape or form attain. 
Thus, when the rabble for freedom strive. 
Peace and welfare cannot thrive. 

Woe, when the frenzied mobs uprise. 
And rend their chains with riotous hand! 



116 A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 

And through the streets with maddened cries. 

They hurl the devastating brand. 

They seize the bell-rope with wild applause 

Whose clangor echoes their shoutings hoarse, 

Devoted but to a peaceful cause, 

The watchword now incites to force. 

Freedom ! equality ! they shout aloud. 
To arms the peaceful burgers fly: 
The streets soon fill with a lawless crowd 
And murd'rous bands are hovering nigh. 
And women turn to savage beasts 
And sport in horrors with a feverish glow. 
They tear the heart with tiger's teeth, 
Still quivering, from the hapless foe. 
Nothing sacred more remains. 
All holy bonds are rent in twain. 
The good give place unto the bad 
And all the vices have free reign. 
Dangerous is the tiger's tooth, 
Or to beard the lion in his cage. 
But horror's very crown, in sooth. 
Is man when in a frenzied rage. 
Woe, to those who to the blind 
The heavenly torch to give presume! 
It lights him not^ and unconfined. 
The city to ashes will consume. 



A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 117 



Great joy hath now to me been given- 
Like a golden star of night, 
From the husk, all smooth and bright, 
See ! the metal kernel's riven. 

From top to rim it gleams 

Reflecting gold sunbeams. 
And the coats of arms and shields 
Praise the skill the builder wields. 

Come in, come in, 
Companions all, form in line and listen 
While we the new bell christen. 
Concordia its name shall be. 
To sweet communion, from the steeple 
May it assemble a happy people! 

And this henceforth shall be its duty 
For this 'twas made and formed in beauty: 
And high above all earth life soaring 
Where heaven's azure is unfurled— 
A neighbor to the thunder's roaring— 
'Twill border on the starry world. 
And it shall be a guiding voice 
Like star-groups 'mong the heavenly spheres 
Which in their creator still rejoice 
And guide the ever circling years. 
And only to eternal things 
May it dedicate its voice sublime, 
And hourlv on swift beating wings 



118 A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 

Come into touch with fleeting time. 

May it with destiny unite — 

Though heartless, and without sensation — 

Accompany from its lofty height 

All life's various mutations. 

And when its clang strikes on the ear, 

And lingering echoes die away, 

So teaches it that naught endures 

As into the past sinks each today. 

Now to the bell ! all pull the rope 
And lift it from its resting place, 
That we may give it freer scope 
To soar into the deeps of space. 

Pull the rope ! now pull ! 

It moves ! now let her swing ! 
IMay it joy to the city bring. 
And peace proclaim with its first ring. 



A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEATH 119 

THE DISTRIBUTION OF THE EARTH 

(From the German of Schiller) 

"Come take the world, it shall be thine/' cried 

Zeus 
To man — from his Olympian throne above — 
"For an inheritance and eternal use. 
But share it with fraternal love." 

Then all bestirred themselves in quick pursuit 
Of whatsoever they desired to claim. 
The farmer seized the fields of grain and fruit. 
And young lords through the wood stalked game. 

The merchant packed his warerooms with dry- 
goods, 
The abbot took his portion in old wine, 
The king blockaded bridges and all roads 
And cried: "The tenth of all is mine." 

At last when each had gathered in his share, 
From some far-off retreat the poet came. 
Alas, all things were seized on everywhere 
And naught was left for him to claim. 

"Ah! am I then forgotten quite?" he cried. 
"Thy dearest son forgotten, I, alone!" 
And loud his lamentations rang on every side 
As at Jove's feet he fell full prone. 



120 A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 

"If thou in land of dreams" — the god replied — 
"Lingered too long^ thou must not quarrel with me, 
Where wert thou when man did the world divide?" 
"I was," the poet spoke, "with thee." 

"My eyes gazed on thy face with such delight, 
Such heavenly harmonies did my ears entrance. 
Forgive one, who, bedazzled by thy light. 
Has lost his just inheritance." 

Quoth Jove then, — "Since the world has given away, 
And harvest, game, and marts are mine no more, 
Dost thou with me in Heaven wish to stay 
Thou'lt ever find an open door." 



A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 121 



SPRING SONG 

(From the German of Wackernagel) 

Behold where comes the joyous Spring! 
On swallows' wings 'tis soaring, 
With birds all 'round it fluttering, 
Their gladsome songs outpouring. 
And noiselessly the butterfly 
On gaudy wing goes flitting by. 
In swarms they fly, 
The fields of air exploring. 

The wood a youthful air puts on. 

New life the Spring is bringing; 

And mountains old their new hats don 

On which green crests are swinging. 
In every crevice, small or deep. 
Cleft in the rocks or mountain steep. 
Where sunbeams peep. 

There, fresh young buds are springing. 

Which beam with joy on all below. 
Where the wood with praise is hymning. 
They greet the morning's ruddy glow, 
Or twilight gently dimming. 

And when night dews begin to fall, 
With kindly hand these blossoms small 
Present to all 
Their cups with nectar brimming. 



122 A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 

The earth and sky seem beautified, 
From out each chalice showing, 
While music rings on every side. 
And zephyrs soft are blowing. 

High over all in skys of blue 

The laughing Spring, while sweeping through. 
Drops fragrant dew 
From tresses long and flowing. 



A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 12S 



THE BRIDE OF MESSINA 
(From the German of Schiller) 

Now have I from her arms just torn myself. 
But still will I with her be occupied. 
For she shall go with me to some bazaar 
Where Moors, the splendors of the Orient, 
In silken stuffs, and works of art display. 

First will we dainty 'broidered sandals choose. 
To deck the delicate and well-formed feet. 
Her robe shall be of India's choicest weft — 
Bright shim'ring as the snow on Aetna's crown — 
Which 'bout her j'^outhful, rounded limbs shall 

float 
As filmy soft as vapors of the morn. 
And next, her girdle shall of purple be 
With threads of fine spun gold o'erwrought 
That gently 'neath her bosom shall confine 
The flowing tunic 'round her slender waist. 
A silken mantle let us add thereto 
In color of the palest purple hue. 
Caught at the shoulder with a jeweled brooch. 
Nor yet must we forget the golden band 
That 'round her snowy arm would joy to clasp. 
Nor yet the pearl and coral ornaments — 
The gifts of sea nymphs from their treasure- 
troves. 



124 A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 

A coronet shall circle her fair brow, 
In which the emerald-greenish light 
Faint mingles with the ruby's fiery glow. 

Now from her locks the fleecy bridal veil 
Soft flows like mist-clouds 'round her queenly form. 
Thus, with the myrtle wreath her brow now bound, 
She stands a beauteous whole completely crowned. 

•X- -Jf * * 

And now the finest palfrey, I possess, 
Bring from my stables forth, its color be 
The purest white like him, Apollo rode. 
And let his housings all of purple be — 
The bridal richly set in precious stones. 
For he must bear upon his back my queen. 

Now hold yourselves in readiness in knightly 
pomp arrayed, 
And to the joyful sound of horns and bells 
Your princess you shall homeward proudly lead. 



A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 125 



SONGS OF OSSIAN 

(From the German of Goethe's prose translation 
of an English version of the original Gaelic 

text.) 

Star of the twilight hour, whose mellow light 
So softly twinkles in the western sky! 
Thou liftest up thy head above the clouds, 
Thou movest majestically along the hill. 

What seest thou on the heath? The winds are 
still. 
The rumbling of the distant torrent's heard. 
The waves play peacefully against the rocks, 
And drowsy hum of insects fills the air. 

What seest thou lovely light, that laughing dis- 
appears ^ 
The waves surround and bathe thy lovely locks. 
Adieu, ye tranquil rays adieu, and thou, 

light superb of Ossian's soul, appear. 
And it appears in all its dazzling glory. 

1 see departed friends: they gather 'round 
On Lora, as in days long passed away. 
Fingal comes and like a misty pillar moves. 
Around him are his heroes. See, the bards, 
Ullin, with silver locks, and stately Ryno, 
Alpin, lovely singer, and thou, Minona, — 

How changed ye are, my friends, since those fete 
days 



126 A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 

On Selma, where we each with other vied 
For honors of the song, like zephyrs which 
By turns the lisping grass bend on the hill! 
There in her beauty stepped Minona forth 
With eyes cast down and brimming o'er with 

tears — 
Her floating locks tossed by the wanton wind 
Which blew from off the hill. 

The warriors' souls 
Grew dark and sad as her sweet voice arose, 
For oft had they the tomb of Salgar seen, 
And oft the dark abode of white Colma. 
Colma, abandoned there upon the hill. 
Alone she sat with her melodious voice 
Awaiting Salgar's coming as he promised. 
But night is gathering fast about her, list! 
The voice of Colma on the hill alone — 

Colma 

" 'Tis night ! — I am alone — lost in the storm. 
The wind howls fiercely on the mountain-top, 
The torrent roars and plunges down the rocks. 
No hut protects me from the dashing rain. 
Abandoned am I on this stormy hill. 
"Step forth, O moon, from out thy cloudy mask! 
Shine out stars of the night ! 

Let thy faint rays 
Conduct me to the spot where rests my lover 



A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 127 

From weariness attendant on the chase. 
His bow unstrung beside him hangs. 

His dogs 
Around him pant, and must I sit alone 
Upon these rocks above the swollen torrent 
Which vies in roaring, with the wild night-wind I 
Yet hear I not the voice of my beloved. 
"Why tarries my Salgar? 

Has he his word forgotten ? 
The rock, the tree, the roaring torrent is here. 
At night's approach thou promised to be here. 
Alas, where hast thou wandered, my Salgar ! 
With thee would I have fled, abandoning all — 
A father and a brother with their pride. 
Tho' enemies our families have been long, 
Yet are we none, nor ever were, 

O Salgar mine! 
"Silence awhile, O wind. Be still O torrent wild! 
Cease but one little while, that through the vale 
My voice may ring and make my rover hear! 
Salgar! 'tis I who call. Here is the rock, 
The tree, Salgar my love, and here am I! 
Why tarriest thou so long? 

"But see ! The moon 
Shines out, the flood glints in the vale below. 
The rocks stand stark and grey upon the hill. 
But yet I see him not upon the height. 
His dogs before, announce not his approach. 



128 A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 

Here must I sit alone: — 

"But who are these 
Stretched out upon the heath? — my best beloved! 

my brother! 
Speak^ O my friends ! — They answer not. 
What torture to my soul ! Ah^ they are dead ; 
Their swords red with the slaughter! 

O my brother. 
My brother^ Why hast thou my Salgar slain .^ 
O my Salgar, Why hast thou my brother slain? 
Ye were so dear — both were so dear to me! 
O thou wert beautiful upon the hill, 
Among a thousand wert thou beautiful! 
And thou wert terrible in battle's rage. 
Answer thou, my own beloved, my voice hear! 
But ah, they're dumb, forever dumb and cold, — 
Cold as the clod — the bosom of my loved ones ! 
"From rocky hill or stormy mountain heights, 
Speak, spirits of the dead, Oh, speak to me! 
I'll tremble not. Where hast thou gone to rest ! 
In what dark mountain cave canst thou be found! 
No voice I hear responsive to my prayer. 
The wind bears me no answer from the dead, 

"I sit in grief and wait the morn in tears. 
Dig the grave, friends of the dead, but close it 

not until I come. 
My life fades like a dream away. 
Here should I stay behind. Here will I dwell 
With my dear friends, the leaping torrent near. 



A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 129 

When night comes on the hill^ and sweeps the wind 
Along the heathy my spirit there shall stand 
And weep the untimely death of my true friends. 
The hunter from his leafy tent shall hear me — 
Shall hear my wailing voice, and fear and love it. 
For sweet my voice shall be to my true friends. 
They were so dear, both were so dear to me!" 
'Twas thy song, Minona, Thorman's sweet daugh- 
ter. 
Our tears flowed for Colma, and we became sad. 
Ullin then with harp appeared and gave us Alpin's 

song. 
Sweet was the voice of Alpin 
The soul of Ryno, like a ray of light. 
But both now sleep within the narrow house. 
No more in Selma shall their voices echo. 
Once, Ullin, when returning from the chase, 
Before had fallen these two heroes brave. 
Listened to their rival songs upon the hill, 
Their songs were sweet, but sad, for they bewailed 
The death of Morar, first among the heroes; 
Like the soul of Fingal was the soul of Morar. 
His broad sword, like the sword of Oscar. 
He fell alas! His father sorely grieved. 
His sister wept his fate, — Minona wept. 
Minona, sister of the valiant Morar. 
Before the song of Ullin she withdrew. 
As when the moon in the west a storm foreseeing, 



130 A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 

Conceals her head behind a wat'ry cloud. 

I touched the harp of Ullin for a song of grief. 

Ryno 

"Hushed is the wind and rain, serene the midday 

sky. 
The lazy clouds drift idly by and dissipate. 
The shimmering sunlight^ fleeing, gilds the far 

hill-tops, 
Red flows the mountain stream into the vale below. 
Sweet thy murmuring stream, but sweeter the 

voice I hear. 
The voice of Alpin 'tis, lamenting for the dead. 
His head with age is bowed, and red his streaming 

eyes. 
Alpin, sweet singer, why sit'st thou on the hill 

alone ? 
Why like the moaning forest wind, dost thou 

lament. 
Or like the noise of waves that lap the distant 

shore?" 

Alpin 

"My tears are flowing, Ryno, for the dead. 
My voice sobs for the dwellers of the tomb. 
Slender art thou on the hill and beautiful 
Art thou among the sons upon the heath ! 
But thou wilt fall like Morar, and upon 



A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 131 



Thy grave the sorrowful will sit and grieve. 
The hills will then forget thee, and thy bow 
Unstrung will lie unheeded in the hall. 

And thou wert swift, O Morar, as the roe upon 
the mountain, 
And awful as a meteor in the sky. 
Thy wrath was a storm, thy sword in battle 
Like sheet lightning flashed, and lighted up the 

heath. 
Thy voice was like the mountain torrent after 

rain, 
Or the thunder's voice on the distant hill. 
Many fell before thy arm, and the flame 
Of thy wrath consumed them. 

But when thou from 
The wars returned-thy voice-how peaceful it 



was 



Thy face was like the sun after a storm 

Or like the moon's soft silvery light serene. 

Thy breast, as the sea when the winds are hushed. 
"But narrow now and dark is thy abode. 

With but three steps I measure off thy tomb. 

O thou, who wert so noble and so great! 

Four mossy stones are thy sole monument. 

A blasted tree, long waving grass, through wh.eh 

The wind low whispers, marks to the hunter s eye, 

The lonely spot where sleeps the mighty Morar. 

No mother hast thou to beweep thy death. 

No sweetheart, tears of love to shed for thee. 



132 A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 

Dead is she who bore thee — daughter of Mor- 
glan. — 

"But who is this who rests upon his staff? 
Whose head with age is white^ whose eyes with 

tears are red? 
Thy father 'tis, with brow so sad^ O Morar! 
The father of no son save thee, Morar! 
He oft has heard thy valiant deeds extolled. 
And of thy fallen foes full oft has heard, 
And of thy glory, too, but not thy wounds. 
Weep, Morar's father, weep, thy son hears not. 
Sound is the sleep of the dead — their pillow, dust! 
Heeds he not thy voice, nor wakens at thy call. 
O when will morning dawn within the grave! 
To say to him who slumbers there, "awake" ! 

"Adieu, noblest of men, thou warrior bold ! 
Ne'er will the battle-field see thee again. 
Thy flashing steel no more shall light the wood. 
Thou leav'st no son behind to bear thy name; 
But it shall be preserved in epic song: 
And future bards shall sing of Morar's deeds. 

The heroes sent forth lamentations wild. 
But Armin's grief was keenest of them all. 
It called to mind his son's untimely death, 
Who fell in life's bright morn. 

Carmor sat near 
Armin, Carmor, prince of far-famed Galmal. 
Thus spoke he then to Armin, sobbing there: 



A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 133 



"Wherefore weep'st thou, Armin? Who needs 

weep here, 
Where music stirs and animates the soul 
Like floating mist-clouds rising from the sea, 
Which, gently trembling, o'er the valley falls. 
And flowers and all the face of nature bathes? 
Then bursts the sun in all its splendor, forth, 
And mist-clouds disappear. 

Why art so sad, 

Armin, who rules o'er sea-begirt Gorma?" 

Armin 

"Yes, sad am I with best of reasons, too, 
Carmor, thou hast no son, no blooming daughter 

lost. 
Colgar, the valiant, lives and lovely Amira-- 
Most beautiful maiden she! And green 
The branches still, O Carmor, of thy stock! 
But Armin is the sole one of his race. 
Dank is thy bed, and deep thy sleep, O Daura . 
When wilt thou awaken with thy melodious voice. 
Awake! ye winds of autumn, wake! and blow 

O'er the gloomy heath. 

Torrents, leap and roar! 

Howl storm, and rend the summit of the oaks ! 
Slip through the shifting clouds, O moon ! Reveal 
And hide alternately thy pallid face! 
Recall to me the hoTroys of that night _ 



134 A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 

When perished both my children. 

Then Arindal, 
The mighty, fell, and Daura, dear one^ perished. 

"Daura, my daughter, how beautiful wert thou, — 
As the placid moon on the hills of Fura ! 
White as the drifting snow, sweet as the breath 

of morn! 
Thy bow was strong, Arindal, thy spear swift 
In the field, thy glance, like mist on the waves. 
Thy shield flashed like a fire-cloud in the storm. 

"Armar^ famed in war^ wooed the lovely Daura, 
And haply won^ full soon, her young heart's love. 
And friends looked gladly on with joy and hope. 
Erath, Odgall's son, looked on with wrathful ire; 
His brother had been slain by Armar's hand. 
In boatman's guise he went to meet Daura. 
His bark danced gaily o'er the swelling wave. 
White his locks with age, peaceful his earnest face. 
'Most beautiful of maids,' said he, 'Armin's lovely 

daughter, there on the rocks near by. 
Where peeps the red fruit through a leafy screen, 
Awaiteth Armar his loved-one's coming. 
I come, to guide her to him o'er the sea.' 

"She follows to this lonely trysting place. 
She calls out 'Armin!' but he answers not. 
The rocks reverberate her voice alone. 
'Armar^ my love, why thus torment my soul? 
Hear, Armath's son ! 'tis Daura's voice that calls !' 
"Erath the traitor, laughing, fled to land. 



A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 1S5 

She lifted up her voice and called aloud. 
'O father, brother, Armin, Arindal, 
Oh, is there none to hear and save his Daura!' 
"Her voice rang o'er the sea. Arindal heard. 
My son Arindal heard and quickly came, 
All covered o'er with booty of the chase. 
He sprang adown the hill with bow in hand. 
His arrows hanging dangling at his side. 
His five black hounds leaped joyfully about him. 
He saw the bold Erath upon the shore. 
He seized and bound him to an oak tree fast. 
Thus firmly bound, Erath filled the air with groans. 

"Arindal launched his bark upon the waves, 
To rescue Daura from the lonely rock. 
Then Armar came in wrath, an arrow seized — 
And with well poised aim he sent it speeding home. 
It pierced thy heart O Arindal, my son! 
Thus perished thou in trait'rous Erath's stead. 
His bark but touched the rock when he, expiring, 

fell. 
Thy brother's blood flowed at thy feet, all warm. 
Which was for thee a piteous sight, O Daura! 

"The waves soon crushed the bark. 

Into the sea 
Leaped Armar, his beloved to save or die. 
A storm-wind struck and lifted high the waves. 
He sank beneath to reappear no more. 
"I heard my daughter's shrieks upon the sea-beat 
shore. 



136 A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 

Long and loud she wailed, nor could I rescue her. 

The whole night long I stood upon the shore. 

I saw her dimly through the moon-light pale. 

The whole night long I heard her piercing cries. 

Loud roared the wind, the rain dashed 'gainst the 
rocks, 

But fainter grew her voice ere morning dawned. 

And died away as dies the evening breeze. 

Low murm'ring in the grass upon the rocks below. 

She died of grief, and left Armin alone. 

My strength in war is past, my pride, as father, 
fallen. 
"When storms descend in fury from the moun- 
tain heights. 

And fierce north winds pile high the foaming surge, 

I sit and gaze with fascination strange. 

Far out upon that lonely sea-girt rock. 

Oft through the moon's pale shim'ring light, I 
see 

The spirits of my children, hand in hand. 

In sweet and solemn concord passing by. 

"O why awaken me, sweet breath of spring! 

Thou wooest and speak'st. 'I'm charged with 
dews from Heaven.' 

"But the time of my with'ring draweth near. 

Near, the storm that shall strip me of my leaves! 

Tomorrow when the wanderer comes who saw 

Me in my beauty, his eye 'shall seek me. 

Shall seek me in the field, but shall not find me." 



A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 137 

(From Schiller's Mary Stuart) 

Mary and her maid in the park of 

Fotheringay Castle^ where Mary is imprisoned. 

Maid : 
You hasten^ Lady, as if you had wings : 
So fast, indeed, I cannot follow — wait, pray. 

Mary: 
O let me enjoy this new freedom so sweet, 
Let us be children together once more. 
And try once again the light winged feet 
As swiftly we skim the green meadows o'er. 
Can it be I am free from my cell cold and bare? 
Hold me no more the dread dungeon walls? 
Let me drink of the free and heavenly air 
And bask in the sunlight that over me falls. 

Maid: 
O my dear Lad}^, your dreary prison house 
Is only just a little widened. 
The walls which shut us in you do not see 
Because the trees' thick foliage conceals them. 

Mary : 
O thanks ye friendly trees, thanks be to you 
That my grim prison walls ye hide from sight! 
O let me fancy that my dreams be true ! 
Wherefore awake me from such visions bright? 
O'erspans me nature's blue ethereal dome 
While free and fetterless the eye can roam 
O'er trackless voids of Heaven's immensity. 



138 A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 

There^ where the grey and misty mountains rise. 
The boundaries of my kingdom may be seen. 
Yon hazj^ cloud that toward the Southland flies 
Shall hover o'er loved France's valleys green. 
Swift sailing cloudlet far up in the blue. 
Oh that I might rise and take passage with you! 
Take my fond greetings to the land dear to me. 
I am a prisoner, in bondage I pine, 
No other herald can I claim as mine. 
Through the blue ether your pathway lies free. 
This proud queen holds not dominion o'er thee. 

Maid: 
Ah, dear Lady, you are quite beside yourself, 
Your long imprisonment doth make you rave. 

Mary: 
There a fisherman fastens his boat to the land. 
Through this mean craft I might freedom attain, 
j\light be safely borne to some friendly strand 
If needy man could be tempted for gain. 
Richly would I repay him with treasure — 
A haul should he make, as he's ne'er made before. 
His nets should be filled with o'erflowing measure 
Would he but take me to some far off shore. 

Maid: 
An idle wish — for see you not from far 
Our footsteps close are followed by a spy? 
A black and cruel mandate banishes 
All sympathetic creatures from our path. 

Mary: 



A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 139 

Good Hannah^ no^ believe me, not in vain 

Has been the op'ning of my prison door. 

This favor is to me the harbinger 

Of greater good. I feel a premonition 

That 'tis the hand of love, the which I thank. 

Lord Leicester's powerful arm I recognize. 

My freedom they will widen by degrees — 

From small to greater, will accustom me — 

Till I at last shall see the face of him 

Who has removed my bonds forever more. 

Maid: 
This paradox I cannot reconcile. 
They bid you yesterday prepare for death. 
Today as suddenly your freedom give. 
I've heard it said, when prisoners' chains are 

loosed, 
It signifies they're soon to be set free. 

Mary: 
Hear'st thou the hunter's horn? Dost hear it 

ringing — 
Loud hallooings as through the green fields they 

race? 
O could I, upon my proud courser springing. 
Respond to their shoutings and join in the chase! 
Hark! Hark! how familiar the voice that I hear, 
That with painfully sweet remembrances thrills ! 
How oft it has made the blood leap to my face 
When up in the Highlands in my Scottish hills 
Which echoed the shouts of the hunter's mad chase. 



140 A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 

(Translation from Schiller's Mary Stuart.) 

Meeting Between Mary and Queen Elizabeth^ in 
the Park of Fotheringay Castle. 

Elizabeth: 
How is it^ my Lords? 
Who was it then that did announce to me 
One bowed with grief? A haughty pride I find 
In no way softened by misfortune's touch. 

Mary (aside) : 
So be it! I will humbly bear myself. 
Begone, thou foolish pride of a noble soul ! 
I will forget both who I am and what 
I suffer, and at her feet, who brought me to 
Such depths of grief and shame, will throw myself. 

(Turning to the Queen) 
Heaven hath decided for you, sister, 
In triumph sits the crown upon your brow. 
And I adore Him who hath raised you up! 
Yet, sister, show your magnanimity ! 
Let me not languish here in such disgrace! 
Your hand stretched forth gives me the queenly 

right 
To lift myself from this abyss of shame. 

Elizabeth : 
You're in your proper place. Lady Mary, 



A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 141 



And thankfully I praise God for his grace 
That He hath not so willed that I should lie 
A suppliant at your feet as you do now at mine. 

Mary: 
Think on the instability of things. 
And gods there be who punish the proud in heart! 
Then hear and honor them whose awful might 
Hath cast me humbly grovling at your feet.— 
Then in the presence of these witnesses 
Honor yourself in me, for in my veins. 
As in your own, the blood of Tudor flows. 
Then desecrate it not !— O God in Heaven! 
O stand not there; cold, inaccessible. 
As the bold rock-cliff that towers high and steep. 
On which the ship-wrecked mariner, with hands 
Out-stretched while vainly struggling, seeks to 

grasp ! 
My hfe, my destiny, my all, depend 
Upon my words, the power of woman's tears. 
Unbind my heart, that I may move yours to 
Some show of pity! for when you gaze on me 
With that cold stare, shud'ring, the heart shuts up. 
The stream of tears is choked, and all the prayers 
That I would say are frozen on my lips. 

Elizabeth: 
What would you say to me. Lady Stuart. 
You've wished to speak to me and I forget 
The Queen, meanwhile, the sorely injured Queen. 



142 A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 



The sister's pious duty to perform. 
Moved by a generous impulse, grant I you 
The consolation of this interview. 
I justly blame myself that I so far 
Have condescended, for, as you well know. 
You've plotted for my death through treachery. 

Mary : 
With what shall I begin? How shape my words. 
That I may touch your heart, yet injure not.^* 
O God ! put power and healing in my speech. 
And every thorn remove lest it should wound! 
Yet for myself I cannot speak without 
Accusing you, and that I will not do. 
You have with great injustice treated me. 
For I am queen as well as you, yet you 
Have kept me as a common prisoner. 
A suppliant I came to you, and you 
The sacred laws of hospitality. 
The people's sacred rights scorning in me. 
Shut me within a prison cell, and friends 
And servants from me ruthlessly did take. 
They stood me at the bar of a disgraceful tri- 
bunal — 
No more of that — but let oblivion hide 
Forever the base indignities I bore. 
I'll call it all, then. Providence: 
And you are not to blame no more am I. 
Some wicked demon has our hearts possessed. 
And kindled there the old time bitter hate 



A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 143 

Which in our tender youth had sundered us. 

It grew with us and wicked men have fanned 
It to a dangerous flame^ and frenzied zeal 
Hath armed the meddling hand with sword and 

knife. — 
But this is the accursed fate of queens, 
That when disjoined, the world seems out of joint, 
And Furies all discord and hate let loose. 

But now no stranger tongue doth mediate. 
And we stand face to face. Now, sister, speak ! 
Yes, sister, speak and name to me my fault, 
And I will satisfy your every charge. 

O, had you let me speak that time when I 
So eagerly did seek your eyes in vain! 
It had not gone so far, alas ! 
And this sad meeting ne'er had taken place. 

Elizabeth : 
My good star warned me^ luckily, in time. 
The adder in my bosom not to warm. 
Accuse not destiny, but your black heart. 
The bold ambition of your house, accuse. 

No enmity had e'er between us come 
Till your proud uncle, base ambitious priest. 
Whose insolent hand toward every crown is 

stretched. 
Stirred up this feud: deluded you to wear 
My arms, and my queen's title to usurp, 
And with me wage a bitter strife unto 



144 A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 

The death. Whom has he not against me sum- 
moned ? 
The tongues of wily priests and people's swords, — 
The pious weapons of fanaticism — 

Even now^ within my kingdom's peaceful bounds, 
The flame of insurrection's blown to me. 
But God is with me, and the haughty priest 
Is foiled in his attempt. Though at my head 
Was aimed the murderous shaft, it falls on yours. 

Mary: 
I'm in God's hands, and can you boast so cold 
And bloodily of your tyrannic power? 

Elizabeth : 
And what should hinder me.^ Your uncle gave 
A precedent to all the queens of earth, 
How one should with his enemies make peace. 
In St. Bartholomew I find my school. 
Then what to me is blood-relationship 
Or people's rights? The church all sacred bonds 
Dissolves. I practice only what your priests 
Do teach. What surety can you give to me 
If I your bonds should generously unloose? 
In what stronghold could I your pledge confine 
The which St. Peter's keys could not unlock? 
My only safety lies in force, for with 
The serpent brood no covenant can be made. 

Mary: 
Oh, this it but a wretched vain distrust! 



A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 145 

You ever have but as an enemy 

And stranger looked on me. Had you declared 

Me as your lawful heir, as is my due, 

You had in me a faithful relative 

And friend, in gratitude and love preserved. 

Elizabeth: 
Your friendships, Lady Stuart, are abroad. 
Your kindred, to the papacy belong. 
The monk your brother /is. — And you, my heir 
Declare ! The treacherous snare you spread for 

me 
And for my people, a cunning Armida! 
The noble youths of this, my kingdom, you 
With cunning craft have wantonly ensnared, 
That all have turned unto the rising sun. 
And I 

Mary: 

Reign thou henceforth in peace, for every 

Claim upon this realm I here renounce. 

Alas ! my spirit's wings are rudely clipped. 

No more do€s greatness lure — You've compassed 
your design. 

I'm but the shadow of my former self. 

My long acquaintance with the prison-cell 

Has crushed my spirit. You've wrought the ut- 
most harm 

On me, destroyed me in my early bloom! 

Then, sister! make an end and speak it out. 



146 A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 

Say the word that you have come to say; 

For I cannot believe that you have come 

Your humble victim cruelly to scorn. 

O speak this word ! but say to me, "You're free. 

You've tasted now my power's extremity. 

Now learn my magnanimity to honor." 

But say it, and my life and liberty 

I'll as a present from your hands receive. 

One word makes all as if it ne'er had been. 
O speak, and let me not so long await! 
Woe be to you should not this word end all! 
Are you not come with blessing on your wings, 
And like a God from me depart — sister! 
O, not for all the wealth of this proud realm 
Would I before you, as you before me, stand! 

Elizabeth: 
Do you confess at last that you are vanquished? 
Is your intriguing really over, with no 
More murders under way? Will no adventurer 
For you his wretched knighthood hazard more? 
It's over with you, Lady Stuart, and you'll 
Intrigue no more. The world has other cares. 
None cares to be your husband number four. 
For you your lovers kill as well as husbands. 

Mary: 
Sister, Sister ! O God ! God ! give me self control ! 



A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 147 



Elizabeth: 
This is the gross indignity, Lord Leicester, 
That no man lets unpunished pass nor would 
Another woman dared arraign me thus. 
'Tis cheap to win such notoriety. 
It little costs to be a universal beauty— to be all 

common, 
No more, indeed, than common be to all. 

Mary: 
This is too much! 

Elimbeth: 

Now show us your true face. 
Till now 'twas but a mask. 

Mary: 
The frailties of humanity and giddy youth— 
For power has dazzled and misguided me — 
I never have denied. Hypocrisy, 
I have with queenly candor still despised. 
The world has known the worst of me and I 
Can say that I am better than report. 
Woe be to you! should once the cloak of honor 
Be removed wherewith you seek to hide 
The wanton pleasures of a riotous life! 

Not chastity have you inherited. 
For 'tis well known for what virtue your mother, 
Anne Boleyn, the bloody scaffold did ascend. 
Shrewsbury (stepping between) : 



148 A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 

O God ! and must it come to this ! Is this 

The moderation, the submissiveness, 
Lady Mary? 



Moderation ! 
I've borne all any human mortal can. 
Begone, thou meek and lamb-like passiveness ! 
To Heaven flee long suffering forbearance ! 
Then burst your bonds, break forth long smould'- 

ring hate! 
And, thou, who to the basilisk its death 
Glance gave, lay on my tongue the venomed shaft. 
The throne of England by a bastard is 
Profaned; the noble-hearted British folk 
By a frivolous, vain buffoon is disgraced. 
Did justice reign, you'd lie here at my feet, 
Low groveling in the dust, — for I'm your queen. 



A GARNERED AUTUMN SHEAF 149 



L'ENVOI 

Go forth, to bear a message of good cheer. 
Thou must with modest bow the great world greet. 
If thou with pleasing thought can charm the ear 
Thou mayst a kindly welcome hope to meet. 
Speak not in whimsical, newfangled phrase, 
That seeks to hide the lack of thought or art, 
But speak as did the bards of olden days 
The language that will best thy thought impart. 
A well turned phrase, with diction choice and pure, 
Beauty of thought, in language clear and terse. 
Will stand the test of time, longer endure 
Than all the vaporous prattlings of freak verse. 
Thy task to entertain, tho' small and weak. 
Thou must fare forth and for thine own self speak. 



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